UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


UNIVERSITY  of  CAL1FOKHA* 

AT 

LOS  ANGELES 
LIBRARY 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 


THE 

VERMILION 
PENCIL 

A    ROMANCE   OF   CHINA 

BY 

HOMER    LEA 


NEW    YORK 

THE   McCLURE   COMPANY 
MCMVIII 


Copyright,  1908,  by  The  McClure  Company 

Publithed,   March,    1908 


Copyright,  1906,  by  Homer  Lea 
All  rights  rttrrviJ 


TS 


To 

My  Father  and  to  Fred  Phillips 
Tbit  Book  is  Dedicated 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

PROLOGUE  THE  TYPHOON 3 

BOOK    I.    A    WOMAN 

CHAPTER 

I.     IN  THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  FOUNTAIN  .       .  25 

II.    THE  VICEROY 34 

III.     THE  WIFE .  43 

BOOK    II.    TWO    UNKNOWNS 

I.    THE  YOUNGER 53 

BOOK    III.    THE    BEGINNING 

I.     PRO  DEO  ET  ECCLESIA         ....  65 

II.     THE  SCHOLAR 72 

III.  HOMO!  MUTATO! 80 

IV.  A  DRAGON  AND  THE  GROTTO     ...  88 
V.    THE  MONSOON 98 

VI.    A  GIFT in 

VII.     DAWN 121 

VIII.    THE  DELUGE  FAMILY 128 

IX.     THE  DERELICT 144 

X.    TWILIGHT 155 

XI.    NIGHT 172 


CONTENTS 
BOOK    IV.    THE    NEMESIS    OF    FATE 


PAGE 


I.  THE  WANDERER 185 

II.  WORD  FROM  THE  UNKNOWN       .       .       .198 

III.  DAWN  AGAIN 205 

IV.  THE  GROTTO  OF  THE  SLEEPLESS  DRAGON  211 
V.  THE  PROPITIATION  OF  THE  GODS  OF  THE 

WATERS 218 

VI.  THE  PROPITIATION  OF  THE  GODS  OF  THE 

WATERS  (Continued)          ....  238 

VII.  THE  WHITE  LAMB  AND  YELLOW  WOLF  .  260 

VIII.  AND  So  rr  ENDED 276 

IX.  JUDGMENT 291 

X.  A  FRIEND 305 

XI.  ELOI,  ELOI,  LAMA  SABACTHANI.        .       .  314 


[vi] 


PROLOGUE 


THE   TYPHOON 

FROM  the  city  of  Yingching  an  old  road 
runs  northwestward  to  the  mountains  of 
Loh  Fou — that  indescribable  mass  of 
grandeur  and  mystery,  in  whose  gorges  unnum- 
bered monasteries  slumber,  from  whose  peaks 
and  cliffs  temples  gaze  benignly  down  through 
the  somnolent  shadows  upon  the  thoughtful  pro- 
geny of  Panku — the  World-Chiseller.  This  slab- 
worn  road,  after  it  leaves  the  suburbs  clustering 
around  the  East  Gate  of  Yingching,  follows  right- 
obliquely  across  the  rice-fields  to  the  foot  of  the 
White  Cloud  Hills. 

To  the  residents  of  Yingching  these  hills  have 
always  been  a  source  of  delight,  and  for  uncounted 
ages  multitudes  have  crowded  at  sunset  the  towers 
and  pavilions  of  the  city  walls  to  watch  their  glens 
and  slopes  become  veiled  in  a  filtering  of  delicate 
shades — lilac,  amethyst  and  violet,  until,  through 
a  deep  of  purple,  they  vanish  into  night — a  flutter- 
ing of  gorgeous  shadows. 

Up  over  these  hills  the  old  road  climbs  labori- 
ously until  it  disappears  through  a  gorge  of  its  own 
wearing.  After  crossing  the  southern  slope  it 
winds  through  deeply  wooded  ravines  in  whose 
[3] 


PROLOGUE 

alcoves  Buddhist  and  Taoist  monasteries  sleep 
away  the  fretful  ages  of  man,  forming  retreats  for 
scholars,  who  come  from  Yingching,  to  escape  in 
their  brook-splashed  groves  the  clatter  and  nagging 
of  men. 

This  ancient  highway  struggles  on  through  the 
White  Cloud  Hills,  mutilated,  uncertain;  past  the 
great  monastery  of  Kingtai  below  the  south- 
ern summits;  past  reproachful  ruins  in  whose 
crumbling  shadows  solitary  monks  remain  to  pro- 
pitiate the  spirits  of  those  that  once  dwelt  in  their 
cloisters;  past  the  Silvery  Rush  Brook  whose  foam 
the  banished  statesman,  Su  Tungpa,  compared, 
some  centuries  ago,  to  human  greatness.  Crawling, 
halting  along  its  deepworn  way  the  old  road  gropes 
through  gorges,  over  mountains,  across  torrents 
and  under  the  splash  of  cataracts  until  it  reaches 
the  green,  undulating  plains  of  Tsang  Tsing. 
Thence  it  goes  straight  through  canebrakes,  past 
villages  and  tombs,  under  orchards  of  lichee,  past 
ruins  hid  beneath  creepers  and  cities  old  and  new. 

Below  the  market-town  of  Chingkwo  the  ancient 
way  crosses  the  Lung  Mun  River,  and,  entering 
the  mountains  of  Loh  Fou,  is  untangled  into  a 
hundred  strand-like  paths  leading  to  monasteries 
that  are  hidden  among  the  shadows  of  every 
gorge,  and  to  temples  hung  on  the  shelves  of  cliffs. 
One  path  goes  to  the  Monastery  of  Fa-Shau,  in  its 
deep  pit  of  shrubs  and  lanwhui;  another  climbs 
[4] 


THE   TYPHOON 

up  among  boulders  and  cataracts  to  the  Temple  of 
Wa-Shau,  thence  three  thousand  feet  higher 
to  the  Royal  Monastery  of  Putwan,  while  yet 
another  threading  path  goes  on  a  thousand  feet 
above  where  the  Temple  of  the  Moon  clings  to  a 
mountain  peak  and  whither  companies  of  chanting 
bonzes  go  from  the  monasteries  below  to  offer  up 
prayers  when  the  harvest  moon  is  full. 

The  antiquity  of  this  old  road  extends  back  be- 
yond the  records  of  men,  but  it  is  known  that, 
centuries  after  its  trace  had  been  deeply  scarred 
through  the  White  Cloud  Hills  and  across  the 
plains  of  Tsang  Tsing,  it  was  made  into  a  king's 
highway  and  paved  with  granite  blocks,  eight  feet 
long,  two  feet  broad  and  often  a  foot  in  thickness. 
Yet  the  long  bare  tread  has  not  only  eroded  them 
away,  but  hills  have  been  worn  down  and  canons 
have  been  made  by  these  century  streams  of  men's 
feet,  treading  to  and  fro  and  dwelling  by  it  for  so 
long  that  their  comings  and  goings  are  unknown. 
For  babes  were  born  on  this  way  and  reared  by 
its  trace  long  before  the  she-wolf  suckled  Silvia's 
twins  on  the  old  road  by  the  Tiber's  bank.  And 
like  the  road  of  Cenis,  it  has  been  traversed  by 
armies  of  different  ages;  it  has  resounded  with 
their  triumphant  march;  it  has  echoed  with  the 
furtive  footfall  of  their  flight;  the  pageants  of 
Emperors  have  passed  over  it — and  long  files  of 
sighing  beggars. 

[5] 


PROLOGUE 

One  September  afternoon  on  this  old  road,  past 
the  ruins  of  Kingtai  and  near  the  southern  sum- 
mits of  the  White  Cloud  Hills,  were  seen  neither 
porters  nor  farmers  nor  beggars  nor  the  retinues 
of  mandarins.  The  road  was  deserted  other  than 
by  two  men  climbing  slowly  to  the  summit. 

The  sultry  heat  of  the  afternoon  was  choking, 
and  at  short  intervals  the  men  halted  to  gain  their 
breath  and  wipe  the  perspiration  from  their  faces. 
An  oppressive,  nervous  lassitude  weighed  down 
the  air;  neither  from  bush  nor  tree,  from  hill- 
side nor  glen,  was  to  be  seen  or  heard  a  living 
creature. 

The  two  men,  approaching  the  top  of  the  White 
Cloud  Hills,  were  as  silent  as  their  surroundings, 
and,  until  they  reached  the  summit,  when  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Chu  Kiang  and  the  City  of  Yingching 
lay  below  them,  they  appeared  as  unconscious  of 
each  other's  presence  as  they  were  apparently 
oblivious  to  their  surroundings.  But  when  they 
came  to  the  bare  mountain  top,  the  manner  of  the 
older  man  changed;  anxiously  he  scanned  the  sky, 
the  horizon,  the  fields  and  the  river  below  them  as 
if  to  find  in  the  wide  estuary  of  the  Chu  Kiang 
some  cause  for  alarm. 

Nothing   could   have   been   more   peaceful   or 

beautiful.    The    sky   was   cloudless,    the    horizon 

faintly  hazy,  while  the  slanting  rays  of  the  sun 

cast  a  golden  sheen  upon  the  great  river  and  the 

[6] 


THE  TYPHOON 

rice-fields  that  extended  from  it  to  the  hills.  These 
fields,  in  different  shades  of  green  and  brown,  in- 
terlaced with  canals,  were  like  a  great  shimmering, 
silken  quilt  stitched  together  by  threads  of  gold. 
Far  eastward,  on  the  left,  they  merged  into  banana 
plantations,  orchards  of  olive  and  lichee;  westward 
they  ended  at  the  edge  of  the  eastern  suburbs  of 
Yingching. 

The  city,  seen  from  the  summit  where  the  two 
men  stood,  appeared  a  vast  expanse  of  reddish 
roofs,  shaded  here  and  there  by  groves  of  banians. 
A  great  old  wall  encircled  the  old  city,  but  dimmed 
by  distance,  its  broken  merlons  were  not  seen  nor 
the  ravages  of  war,  nor  the  erosions  of  a  thousand 
years,  nor  the  veiling  draperies  of  maiden-hair  fern 
that  hung  from  the  chipped  interstices.  These 
huge,  aged  and  lichen-warted  walls  loomed  up 
black,  impregnable.  Outside  of  them  the  eastern 
suburbs  could  be  seen  extending  from  under  the 
East  Gate  obliquely  in  direction  of  and  along  the 
bank  of  the  river,  while  the  western  and  southern 
suburbs  were  hidden  by  them.  Above  the  city,  on 
the  heights  where  climbed  the  northern  wall,  rose 
the  Great  Sea-Guarding  Tower.  Just  south  of  it, 
within  the  walls,  was  the  wooded  peak  of  Yueshan 
surrounded  with  the  clustering  courts  and  temples 
of  the  Goddess  of  Mercy — that  many-handed  God- 
dess, who  is  so  great  in  pity  and  compassion,  sav- 
ing from  misery  and  from  woe,  and  who  is  ever 
[7] 


PROLOGUE 

listening  to  the  cries  that  come  up  from  the  world. 
Below  the  Temples,  near  by,  in  the  centre  of  the 
city,  two  pagodas  pierce  the  sky,  one  round  and 
tapering,  the  other  octagonal.  Geomancers  squint- 
ing up  at  them,  say  that  this  city  is  like  a  junk; 
that  these  two  pagodas  are  her  masts  and  the  broad, 
five-storied  tower  on  the  north  wall  her  stern  sheets, 
and  that  the  city  is  thus  sailing  southward,  toward 
the  island  of  Honan,  which  lies  on  the  other  side 
of  the  river,  or  beyond  where  rice-fields  shimmer 
and  the  sky-line  is  serrated  by  low,  ragged  hills. 

Here  and  there  over  the  estuary  of  the  Chu  Kiang 
in  the  midst  of  their  paddy-fields  and  orchards,  lay 
walled  towns  and  villages,  half  hidden  under 
banians,  while  on  the  distant  river  bank,  directly 
opposite  the  two  men,  the  Lob  pagodas  point  sky- 
ward, like  great  fingers,  and  on  their  left  the 
pagodas  of  Wampoa  and  the  Golden  Lotus  pierce 
the  sky. 

It  was  the  peace,  the  dumb,  inanimate  peace  of 
this  scene  that  alarmed  the  older  man.  The  river, 
usually  teeming  with  a  vast  number  and  diversity  of 
craft,  was  deserted  other  than  now  and  then  when 
a  boat  crept  furtively  along  its  southern  bank.  The 
fields  were  without  men  or  oxen;  the  city  and  all 
the  tree-veiled  villages,  which  were  scattered  about 
among  the  fields,  were  silent,  and  a  thin  blue  haze 
hung  motionless  over  them. 

For  some  time  the  two  men  looked  down  upon 
[8] 


THE   TYPHOON 

the  delightful  yet  ominous  panorama  spread 
out  beneath  them ;  the  older  man  troubled  and 
uneasy,  but  the  youth  affected  in  no  way,  neither 
by  the  beauty  nor  the  dumbness  of  it. 

When  they  began  to  descend  the  elder  left  the 
old  road  sloping  gradually  along  the  hills  toward 
the  city,  and  led  the  way  down  by  a  steep  path  that, 
on  reaching  the  level,  meandered  along  the  paddy 
banks  in  the  direction  of  the  river.  But  before  they 
came  to  the  river's  high  embankment  the  sun  had 
set,  and  as  they  turned  westward  along  the  top  of 
the  bank  the  older  man  suddenly  stopped.  Di- 
rectly over  the  part  of  the  horizon  where  the 
sun  had  disappeared  hung  a  great  halo,  the  under 
part  of  which  gleamed  red,  the  top  was  shrouded  in 
black  while  between  scintillated  iridescent  colours; 
below  the  black  lay  a  cold  mottled  grey  and  above 
the  red  glowed  a  pink  like  the  cheek  of  a  young 
girl. 

For  some  moments  these  colours  hung  distinctly 
over  the  misty  horizon  then  commingled — the 
corpse-grey  with  the  cheek  of  the  maiden — and 
over  all,  the  pall  of  black.  The  halo  became  ashen; 
wavered — vanished. 

As  the  youth  started  to  go  the  older  man 
placed  a  detaining  hand  on  his  shoulder  and 
pointed  toward  the  skyline  where  but»a  moment 
before  the  halo  had  hung. 

Presently  from  where  the  sun  had  sunk  were 
[9] 


PROLOGUE 

seen  spreading  enormous  rays  of  light.  Upward 
they  unfolded,  stretching  finger-like,  clear  across 
the  sky  until  they  dipped  their  tips  below  the  east- 
ern horizon.  At  first  these  great  fingers  shone  red 
as  though  dyed  with  blood,  then  vermilion,  chang- 
ing gradually  through  all  the  gold  shades  to  an 
orange-saffron.  When  the  finger-rays  burned  red, 
the  intervening  spaces  were  violet;  when  saffron, 
the  sky  was  a  pale  green. 

The  youth  watched  dreamily  these  fingers  trem- 
ble, coruscate,  and  change. 

"  It  is  God's  benediction,"  he  murmured. 

"  Or  the  Devil's,"  growled  the  other. 

The  two  men  waited  until  the  great  crepuscular 
rays,  changing  every  instant  their  gorgeous  colour- 
ings, had  disappeared,  leaving  a  red  diffused  light 
blotting  the  western  sky,  while  a  faint  spectral 
mist  crept  along  the  eastern  horizon.  Troubled, 
the  older  man  watched  this  whitish  haze  creeping 
along  until  it  covered  the  eastern  sky,  then  he 
hastened  toward  the  city  and  the  youth  followed 
meditatively  after  him. 

When  they  reached  the  edge  of  the  suburbs  they 
found  all  the  field  workers,  women  and  oxen 
passively  huddled  about  their  mud-walled  dwell- 
ings. Boatmen  had  drawn  up  their  sampans  and 
fishing  craft  high  upon  the  bank.  And  in  the  door- 
ways frightened  faces  peered  uneasily  down  the 
[10] 


THE   TYPHOON 

river  while  everywhere  rustled  that  restlessness, 
a  fretfulness  that  is  known  by  its  silence.  The 
children  alone  made  their  accustomed  noises. 
Nothing  could  disconcert  them.  They  played  tag 
with  Death  and  cried: 

"You  are  it!" 

As  the  two  men  entered  the  suburbs  these  chil- 
dren were  in  the  midst  of  that  bubbling,  which 
marks  the  end  of  a  day's  play.  They  were  having 
unusual  sport. 

Along  the  coast  of  Southern  China,  among  the 
many  warnings  that  foretell  the  iron  whirlwind's 
approach  none  is  more  peculiar  than  the  actions 
of  dragon-flies,  which  seem  to  seek  the  companion- 
ship of  men.  They  swarm  into  villages,  fasten 
themselves  on  every  projection,  even  lighting  on 
the  heads  and  shoulders  of  the  inhabitants.  Chil- 
dren, regardless  of  what  they  portend,  seize  upon 
them,  and  tying  strings  to  their  long  abdomens, 
turn  them  loose  amid  laughter  and  cries.  It  was 
this  easy  conquest  of  the  myriad-eyed  monsters 
that  aroused  their  wild  mirth  as  the  men  ap- 
proached. 

The  mothers  of  these  gamins  were  burning  in- 
cense-sticks in  stone  basins  beside  their  doorways, 
and  sometimes  strips  of  red  paper  on  which  were 
written  prayers.  In  the  sampans  and  fishing  boats, 
women  were  also  making  propitiatory  offerings — 
the  boat's  prow  serving  as  an  altar.  In  one  place 


PROLOGUE 

on  the  river  bank,  a  party  of  old  leathery  boat- 
women  chattered  garrulously  over  a  stone  slab  on 
which  were  placed  a  row  of  bowls  containing  rice, 
fowls,  sweets  and  wine.  Near  by  stood  a  large 
paper  boat  and  a  basket  of  miniature  boats.  One 
of  these  old  women  took  two  pieces  of  wood  shaped 
like  an  half  pear  and  engraved  with  a  number  of 
characters.  These  she  tossed  into  the  air  so  that 
they  fell  before  the  stone  slab.  Five  times  were 
the  symbols  cast,  then  the  old  women  launched  the 
bright-hued  paper-boat  and  set  fire  to  the  basket 
of  small  boats.  The  smoke  ascended  in  a  straight, 
unwavering  column. 

Standing  by  the  water's  edge,  the  older  man  con- 
tinued to  look  intently  down  the  river;  neither 
noticing  the  children  at  play  nor  the  prayers  ascend- 
ing from  the  thresholds,  nor  the  offerings  of  the 
boatwomen  to  the  gods  of  the  winds  and  waters. 

Suddenly  a  breathless  expectancy  fell  upon  those 
that  were  waiting  and  upon  those  that  were  sending 
their  prayers  heavenward  in  fragrant  smoke. 

Far  away,  somewhere  to  the  east  and  south, 
came  a  gentle  murmur.  At  this  sound  some 
crowded  into  their  houses;  others  came  forth. 
Only  the  children  did  not  heed  this  murmur,  which 
at  times  became  a  moan  to  cease  a  sigh.  The  peo- 
ple on  the  water  front  and  along  the  eastern  rim 
of  the  suburbs  peered  over  the  rice-fields  toward 
Lung  Mun  and  down  the  river  to  where  it  broad- 
[12] 


THE   TYPHOON 

ened  out  into  a  vast  expanse  of  yellow  waters. 
What  they  saw  filled  them  with  terror. 

Across  the  eastern  horizon  opened  an  eronmous 
crack.  Many  looked  into  it  for  an  instant  then 
ran  and  hid  themselves  in  their  hovels  while  those 
that  remained  shuddered.  This  abyss  into  which 
they  looked  commenced  several  degrees  above  the 
horizon;  the  bottom  black,  the  top  ashen;  the 
river,  bearing  on  its  mighty  current  the  boat- 
women's  fragile  offering,  disappeared  into  it. 

The  crack  widened.  Awestricken,  the  people 
crowded  together  on  the  suburb's  edge  and  water 
front  to  watch  it  open. 

The  thin  blue  stems  of  sandal-wood  smoke, 
ascending  from  each  doorway  shrine,  wavered. 

The  sky  became  overcast. 

Suddenly  the  crowd  swayed:  backward,  for- 
ward, backward,  then  scrambling,  vanished — a 
drop  of  rain  had  fallen. 

For  a  moment  there  was  twilight,  which  was 
ghastly — then  night,  which  was  impenetrable. 

A  gust  blew  in  from  the  sea  and  it  was  like  a 
blast  from  a  furnace.  This  sirocco  that  came  from 
the  ocean  was  the  first  breath  of  the  typhoon. 

The  elder  seizing  his  companion  by  the  arm 
pulled  him  along  the  narrow  streets  toward  the 
city.  In  the  blackness  they  could  see  nothing  but 
the  dying  embers  of  sandal  wood  dully  glowing  in 
spectral  clusters  by  each  threshold.  These  red, 
[13] 


PROLOGUE 

weird  eyes  peering  out  into  the  darkness  blinked 
and  grinned  joyously.  They  were  friendly  with 
the  hot  wind  and  the  harder  it  blew  and  the  more 
they  winked  the  more  they  coaxed  the  two  men 
along  the  tunnel-like  streets. 

Suddenly  the  wind  ceased  and  rain  began  to  fall 
slowly  in  great  drops.  One  by  one  the  lights  of 
the  doorways  went  out.  By  their  glow  it  had  been 
possible  to  distinguish  the  alignment  of  the  houses, 
but  now  what  lay  before  them  was  cavernous. 
They  were  in  a  black  labyrinth  of  winding  streets : 
some  leading  into  the  river,  while  in  the  floors  of 
others  were  wells;  some  extended  a  few  feet,  then 
ended.  Familiar  as  the  older  man  was  with  these 
suburbs,  he  stumbled  along  uncertain;  the  youth 
lagged.  Both  were  stifling,  for  the  scorching  wind 
had  started  again  with  increasing  severity,  caus- 
ing them  to  cover  their  faces  with  their  silken 
sleeves. 

There  are  winds  that  freeze,  winds  that  burn, 
winds  that  tear  and  cut,  but  this  wind  that  pre- 
cedes the  typhoon,  chokes.  It  fills  a  man's  nostrils 
with  so  much  burning  air  that  he  gasps  for  breath; 
he  staggers,  sometimes  blood  oozes  from  the  eyes 
and  ears,  he  strikes  at  the  wind,  claws  the  air, 
starts  to  run,  stumbles  and  falls  to  the  earth. 
Skeletons  have  been  found  with  skulls  clasped 
round  in  bony  arms — strangled  by  this  breath  of 
the  iron  whirlwind. 

[14] 


THE   TYPHOON 

The  older  man,  aroused  to  the  danger,  stopped, 
and  pounding  on  a  door  begged  for  admittance. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  they  crouched  together 
on  the  threshold. 

Presently  the  wind  began  to  hesitate,  to  ebb,  then 
it  became  quiet.  But  as  they  hurried  along  the 
black  street  a  sound  like  a  cough  fell  upon  their 
ears,  distant,  piteous,  wind-torn.  They  listened, 
and  what  they  heard  was  terrible — the  muttering 
of  a  typhoon. 

Perhaps  if  the  howl  of  a  hell  were  known,  the 
muttering  of  the  typhoon,  though  dulled  by  dis- 
tance, might  be  compared  to  it.  As  the  Great  Wind 
approaches  this  muttering  grows  louder  and  louder 
until  it  becomes  a  gigantic  gibber;  when  at  hand, 
the  heavens  are  filled  with  multitudinous  screams, 
howls,  laughter,  moans,  and  shrieks — a  stir  of 
sounds  that  is  frightful. 

The  outer  whirlwind  now  seized  the  men. 
Sometimes  they  were  picked  up  by  its  clutching 
fingers  and  hurled  forward;  again  they  tried  to 
move  and  could  not;  reaching  out  to  see  what  op- 
posed them  they  felt  nothing;  turning  a  corner 
they  were  often  thrown  against  a  wall  and  glued 
there  as  flies. 

They  had  made  but  a  short  way  in  their  strug- 
gle when  the  blackness  began  to  lighten  and  be- 
come livid.  Everywhere  shone  a  ghastly  glimmer, 
which  was  more  impenetrable  than  the  black  night. 
[15] 


PROLOGUE 

With  this  light  the  wind  and  rain  increased  in 
violence. 

Suddenly  out  of  the  livid  blackness  a  flame 
darted:  for  a  moment  there  was  silent  hesitancy, 
then  the  heavens  burst  into  a  conflagration.  The 
typhoon  was  upon  them.  Floods  now  fell  from 
burning  clouds  and  tongues  of  fire  spat  out  tor- 
rents. 

In  time,  the  thick  mud  walls  of  the  surrounding 
houses  began  to  collapse,  undermined  by  the  water 
tearing  along  the  narrow  streets.  Sometimes  a 
wall  fell  outward  and  the  lightning  showed  ter- 
rified families  crouching  upon  the  floor;  when  it 
flared  again  there  was  often  only  a  pile  of  brick, 
a  heap  of  shattered  tiles. 

Thus  they  were  driven  from  the  shelter  of  one 
doorway  to  another  and  as  the  houses  began  to 
fall  more  frequently,  they  were  kept  in  the  middle 
of  the  streets  breasting  the  storm  with  that 
strength  remained  to  them. 

The  older  man,  dragging  the  youth  along  by 
the  arm,  struggled  in  the  direction  of  the  great 
city  wall  under  whose  sheltering  corners  they 
could  alone  find  safety.  But  to  get  out  of  this 
suburban  labyrinth  was  difficult,  doubtful,  since  its 
windings  were  becoming  more  choked  and  impass- 
able by  the  debris  of  falling  houses.  Sometimes 
they  made  their  way  forward  only  to  find  the 
street  blocked  and  themselves  exposed  to  the  full 
[16] 


THE   TYPHOON 

swish  of  the  storm.  They  retreated,  but  even- 
tually their  rear  was  also  choked  with  houses  that 
had  fallen  after  they  had  passed  and  which  formed 
just  such  a  barricade  as  had  turned  them  back. 
Hemmed  in  with  houses  falling  first  on  one  side, 
then  on  the  other,  they  stumbled  backward  and 
forward  in  a  continually  narrowing  space.  At  any 
moment  an  overhanging  wall  might  crash  into  the 
street  and  then  it  would  be  empty. 

No  one  can  hope  to  wholly  describe  a  typhoon, 
that  great  wind,  which  is  to  the  cyclone  of  the 
American  plains  what  the  tornado  is  to  a  little 
whirlwind  adrift  down  a  dusty  road.  Slaughter 
as  well  as  destruction  marks  its  path,  for  the  ty- 
phoon is  made  up  of  flames  and  floods  as  it  is  of 
winds,  and  what  escapes  death  or  ruin  from  its  cy- 
clonic breath  is  devoured  by  its  fires  or  swept  away 
by  its  torrents.  No  one  hopes  in  a  typhoon,  and 
men  flee  but  a  little  way  from  it. 

Nothing  is  more  frightful  than  this  iron  whirl- 
wind, nothing  more  wonderful.  It  has  the  cunning 
brutality  of  the  inanimate  and  its  treachery;  the 
bloodthirstiness  of  some  gigantic  beast,  the  gran- 
deur of  God.  It  is  horrible,  yet  sublime. 

This  monster  of  nature  is  born  somewhere  out 

of  the  huge  womb  of  the  South  Pacific,  upon  whose 

bosom   it   strays   aimlessly  and   recklessly  about, 

romping,  wrestling,  growing,  until  it  gets  into  a 

[17] 


PROLOGUE 

temper  and  buffets  its  mother,  the  sea.  Becoming 
cyclopean,  it  spits  at  heaven — petulant  it  departs. 

Like  a  loosened  monster  it  allows  itself  every 
liberty,  and  wanders  with  the  greatest  ease  in  any 
path.  It  sucks  up  the  sea  and  snatches  lightning 
from  the  clouds;  it  fills  its  belly  with  floods  and  its 
breast  with  fire.  Headlong  it  falls  upon  every 
obstacle;  ships  become  as  dust  motes  in  its  breath. 
It  devours  towns  and  babies  with  the  same  ease, 
the  same  glee.  It  laughs  and  screeches  simultane- 
ously. It  is  full  of  joy  and  rage  at  the  same  time 
and  its  joy  is  the  more  terrible.  Sometimes  it  gets 
into  traps  and  difficulties  from  which  it  can 
scarcely  extricate  itself;  then  it  becomes  frantic, 
shrieks,  lingers  and  mutilates. 

But  in  spite  of  all  this  gyratory  brutality,  this 
iron-toothed  monarch  of  all  winds  cannot  ravage 
far  from  the  sea,  though  in  its  blind  rage  it  never 
hesitates.  Falling  upon  the  coast  it  hurls  ships 
into  rice  fields  or  upon  hillsides;  the  sea  front  it 
covers  with  wrecks ;  fishing  fleets  are  crunched  into 
splinters  and  towns  are  strewn  about  as  picked 
bones. 

So  the  two  struggled  feebly  against  this  mon- 
ster backward  and  forward  in  the  midst  of  falling 
houses,  until  finally,  bruised  and  bleeding,  they 
tottered  into  an  open  court  surrounded  by  high 
massive  walls.  Near  the  centre  of  the  court  stood 
a  low  crucifix,  a  tub,  and  two  black  stones.  Against 
[18] 


THE   TYPHOON 

the  windward  wall  was  built  an  open  shed,  and 
into  this  beyond  the  crucifix  they  tottered  and  lay 
exhausted,  while  the  typhoon  raged  and  destroyed 
around  them.  The  lightning  burned  steadily  and 
the  noises,  which  once  muttered  and  cried  about 
them,  were  lost  in  the  terrifying  grind  of  the  iron 
wind;  a  wind  that  picked  up  great  logs  like  rice 
straws,  and  sometimes  sent  rice  straws  with  such 
force  that  they  pierced  wood  as  steel  needles — a 
wind  that  in  its  antics  screamed,  and  in  its  butchery 
laughed. 

The  two  men  under  the  shed  lay  still,  apparently 
oblivious  to  the  storm  wrack  until  the  older  man 
rose  to  his  knees  and  began  to  feel  around  for  his 
companion.  Beside  him,  lit  by  the  lurid  glare  from 
without,  were  a  number  of  headless  corpses,  and 
among  these  lay  the  youth. 

"Where  are  we?"  he  asked  meditatively  when 
the  older  man  had  aroused  him. 

"  In  the  Execution  Grounds." 

"What  are  these?" 

"Corpses." 

"  Ah !  their  souls  may  now  be  witK  God." 

"  Or  in  Hell." 

The  storm  was  abating;  the  moans  and  cries 
'from  the  heavens  ceased;  the  lightning  grew  less 
violent.  Suddenly  all  became  an  absolute  calm 
and  the  men  crept  out  from  among  the  corpses 
under  the  shed. 

[19] 


PROLOGUE 

A  faint,  uncertain  light  glimmered  in  the  dark- 
ness above  them;  enormous  black  masses  of  clouds 
could  be  seen  rolling  close  to  the  earth,  but  directly 
overhead  was  a  circle  of  clear  sky,  darkly  blue, 
and  almost  in  its  very  centre  shone  a  star  of  mar- 
vellous brilliancy.  The  youth  gazed  up  at  it  in 
gratitude. 

"  It  is  the  Eye  of  God." 

The  elder  also  regarded  the  star,  but  said 
nothing. 

"  Let  us  go,"  said  the  youth,  "  the  storm  has 
ended." 

"  Not  while  the  Eye  of  God  is  in  the  heavens." 

For  some  time  they  stood  still  and  silent,  watch- 
ing the  low  black  clouds  roll  around  the  clear  cir- 
cle of  sky. 

"What  is  that?"  asked  the  youth  thought- 
fully, pointing  to  the  low  crucifix,  the  tub  and  the 
black  stones  showing  dimly  under  the  pale  light 
that  came  from  the  Eye  of  God  overhead. 

"  Lingchee"  growled  the  older  man;  "  on  that 
an  adulteress  salutes  the  world  and  passes  on." 

For  a  long  time  both  looked  meditatively  yet 
intently  at  the  low  crucifix,  the  tub  and  the  black 
stones  beside  it. 

"They  tie  her  naked  upon  it,"  growled  the 
elder,  more  to  himself  than  to  the  youth,  "  and 
then  cut  her  into  pieces.  The  first  three  cuts  are 
called  the  strokes  of  mercy,  and  are  no  doubt  dedi- 

[20] 


THE   TYPHOON 

cated  to  the  many-handed  goddess.  The  first  stroke 
the  executioner  draws  his  knife  across  the  brow 
and  a  fold  of  skin  drops  over  the  eyes,  which  is 
merciful,  for  it  shuts  out  the  sneering  faces  around 
her." 

The  elder,  looking  up,  saw  that  the  Eye  of  God 
no  longer  shone  in  the  heavens.  Above  and  around 
them  fell  unfathomable  darkness. 

"  Then  the  ears  are  cut  off,  which  is  also  merci- 
ful, for  jeers  are  no  longer  heard." 

A  wolfish  giggle  came  from  the  abyss  about 
them;  a  drop  of  rain  fell  and  their  wet  garments 
flapped  heavily. 

"  Her  tongue  is  cut  out  next,"  continued  the 
growl  in  the  darkness,  "  and  this  is  the  crowning 
stroke  of  mercy,  for  it  stops  her  piteous  cries." 

Again  came  an  interrupting  roar,  low  and  sul- 
len. The  typhoon  was  near  at  hand  but  the  older 
man  raised  his  voice  above  the  distant  roar. 

"  Then  they  cut  off  her  breast,  where " 

Gnashing,  grinding,  the  iron-toothed  wind  fell 
again  upon  the  hapless  suburbs,  revolving  in  the 
opposite  direction.  It  is  what  sailors  call  the  re- 
turn storm,  when  its  cyclonic  revolutions  are 
reversed  and  the  typhoon  returns  to  complete  its 
devastation.  Going,  the  typhoon  is  a  monster;  re- 
turning, it  is  in  addition,  a  maniac.  What  it  has 
failed  to  destroy,  it  returns  to  mangle.  The  ter- 
rible winds  now  came  from  the  northwest  through 

[21] 


PROLOGUE 

the  open  side  of  the  court,  and  the  two  men  were 
no  longer  protected.  The  shed  that  had  sheltered 
them  was  shattered  by  the  first  returning  blast. 
Helpless  and  bleeding  they  were  hurled  together 
with  the  headless  corpses  into  a  corner  of  the 
court,  making  altogether  a  hideous  pile  but 
wherein  the  cadavers  protected  them  from  the 
debris  that  was  hurled  into  the  corner.  It  often 
happens  that  in  these  storms  the  dead  succour  the 
living. 

The  typhoon  continued  to  shriek  and  to  laugh 
triumphantly  in  the  black  and  fiery  abyss  overhead. 
It  was  as  if  hell  had  been  turned  upside  down  and 
out  of  its  vast  chasm  its  green  fires  were  being 
poured  and  all  those  bruised  noises  that  are  said 
to  resound  there. 

The  typhoon  was  making  its  departure,  which  is 
not  less  terrible  than  its  coming.  Screaming,  hover- 
ing and  hastening  it  makes  its  retreat;  mangling 
what  it  has  heretofore  destroyed.  In  time  it 
weaken^  and  begins  to  linger,  then  exhausted  it 
hesitates,  stops,  and  whispers.  Frenzied,  it  again 
wanders  uncontrollably  about;  revolving  always 
in  the  same  circle  and  moving  whimsically  hither 
and  thither  until  its  strength  is  gradually  ex- 
pended. Quivering,  shuddering,  whimpering,  it  at 
last  disappears  again  into  the  mother  sea — a  pro- 
digal returned. 

[122] 


BOOK   I.    A   WOMAN 


CHAPTER   ONE 
IN   THE  VALLEY   OF   THE   FOUNTAIN 

JUST    south    of    where    the    Yangtse    River 
empties  into  the  ocean  lies  the  Province  of 
the  Winding  Stream — venerable  and  beauti- 
ful, with  a  history  written  back  almost  to  that 
long  hour  when  the  world  was  yet  supposed  to  be 
unmade  by  the  hand  of  God — a  nebulous  vapour 
adrift  in  the  night. 

This  province  is  one  vast  park  of  alternating 
hills  and  valleys,  where  peaks,  cascades,  and  wood- 
lands intervene  in  a  fascinating  confusion;  where 
walled  cities  and  temples  rise  majestically  on  all 
sides;  where  canals  and  watercourses,  alive  with 
boats,  form  a  silvery  network  among  fragrant  hills 
and  tree-hid  hamlets,  making  it  altogether  just 
such  a  land  as  the  imagination  conceives  belong- 
ing alone  to  the  sunlit  East. 

This  province  is  like  an  endless  garden;  where- 
ever  the  eye  reaches  is  seen  not  only  a  luxuriant 
vegetation  but  one  that  has  been  tended  and  reared 
by  man  for  his  uses.  Patches  of  pink  orchard 
blossoms  alternate  with  grey  thickets  of  mulberry; 
clumps  of  feathery  bamboo  flutter  as  plumes  by 
the  edges  of  rice  fields;  plane  trees  with  their 
[25] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
snowy  blossoms  alternate  with  orchards  of  pumelo, 
while  along  the  lower  hills,  forming  wide  and 
densely  shaded  tracts,  spread  groves  of  silvery 
olive  and  lichee  with  delicate  pink  leaves  and 
strawberry-like  fruit. 

Throughout  all  of  these  hills  and  orchards  wind 
rivers,  brooks,  and  canals,  overspanned  at  short 
intervals  by  high  curved  bridges  of  stone.  Under 
their  arches  innumerable  boats  glide  from  dawn 
until  night.  In  some  places  the  country  is  covered 
with  tea  plantations,  and  from  each  willow- 
whipped  cottage  rises  the  fragrant  breath  of  burn- 
ing tea.  Here  and  there  on  hills  thick  with  cypress 
and  pine  are  seen  the  carved  gleaming  roofs  of 
temples,  while  on  the  paths  leading  to  them  every 
crag  and  turn  has  its  miniature  pagodas  and  grot- 
toes. Again,  the  hills  in  many  places  are  covered 
with  groves  of  oil-bearing  camelias,  whose  grace- 
ful shape  and  dark  green  foliage  add  an  indescrib- 
able charm  to  the  landscape. 

But  Che  Kiang  is  not  more  famous  for  the 
charm  of  its  countryside  than  it  is  for  the  beauty  of 
the  women,  who  dwell  among  its  hills  and  valleys, 
working  in  the  midst  of  their  tea  shrubs,  rearing 
cocoons,  spinning  silk;  and  are  no  more  thought  of 
than  the  azaleas  that  brighten  the  hillsides  or  the 
purple  lanwhui  that  scatters  its  perfume  on  the 
bosom  of  the  careless  passing  winds.  In  the 
Tien  Mu  Mountains,  toward  the  southwestern 
[26] 


IN   THE   VALLEY   OF   THE    FOUNTAIN 
part  of  the  province,  these  women  have  a  peculiar 
hauteur  and  independence  of  their  own,  a  vivacity 
and  laughter,  which  is  found  nowhere  else  in  China. 

It  was  among  these  mountains  and  forests  of 
the  Tien  Mii  Shan  that  that  tireless  spider,  Fate, 
set  to  weaving  one  of  its  innumerable  webs  of  in- 
visible strands:  a  net  fragile  yet  terrible.  Unseen 
or  half  seen,  a  spirit-glint  in  the  azure  heavens,  it 
is  a  barrier  through  which  and  from  which  the 
little  man-fly  never  breaks. 

So  the  spider  webbed  in  the  Valley  of  the 
Fountain,  and  before  this  net  is  finally  torn  and 
shattered  by  the  bluster  of  Time  there  shall  be 
found  in  it  those  that  did  not  know  of  its  weaving. 

One  spring  morning,  probably  about  the  same 
hour  when  a  melancholy  Breton  and  an  unknown 
priest  were  setting  out  from  the  Mission  of  Ying- 
ching  upon  their  errands  of  mercy,  a  mandarin's 
retinue  moved  slowly  along  the  Tien  Mu  Moun- 
tains and  before  the  night  mists  had  entirely 
cleared  away  the  path  brought  them  to  the  upper 
heights  of  a  small  glade,  known  as  the  Valley  of 
the  Fountain.  Around  this  vale  the  rugged t 
broken  mountains  were  clothed  in  trees  of  various 
sorts.  The  bright  golden  leaves  of  the  camphor 
and  amber  mingled  with  the  purple  foliage  of  the 
tallow,  while  over  these  rose  the  deep  soft  green 
of  pine  and  arbor  vitae. 

As  the  sun  rose  and  sent  its  broadening  beams 
I*?} 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
down  into  the  purple  Valley  of  the  Fountain  the 
lower  mountain  sides  became  a  gorgeous  mass  of 
red  and  yellow  azaleas;  on  every  hillbank  where- 
ever  the  eye  could  reach  spread  a  flower  mantle 
of  dazzling  brightness.  From  the  valley  came  the 
fragrance  of  tea;  from  the  ravines,  the  breath  of 
lilies  and  lanwhui. 

As  the  retinue  moved  slowly  down  the  tortuous 
path  there  rose  from  a  thicket  of  tea  shrubs  on  a 
round  slope  to  the  right  an  outburst  of  song  not 
unlike  that  of  the  mocking  bird  in  its  sweet  inten- 
sity and  freedom  but  vibrant  with  the  melody  of 
human  passion.  And,  as  this  wild  song  rose  with 
supreme  impulse  and  passion  above  the  tea  thicket, 
the  mandarin's  retinue  stopped. 

Never  was  an  auditorium  more  suitable  to  song 
than  this  amphitheatre  of  flower-packed  hills 
that  surrounded  the  Valley  of  the  Fountain.  The 
sun's  rays  were  just  stealing  through  a  purple  haze 
and  turning  the  dew,  which  lay  heavy  upon  the 
flowers  into  myriads  of  opals;  the  murmur  of  ra- 
vine-hidden cascades,  the  chorus  of  bird-song  in  the 
still-aired  morning,  all  seemed  but  part  of  the  song 
that  rose  from  the  tea  thicket.  This  tempestuous 
outburst  made  the  hills  ring  with  its  echoes,  calling, 
scorning,  pleading,  threatening;  now  bubbling  like 
the  wood-warbler  with  cadences  of  silvery  notes; 
now  rising,  exultant  as  the  nightlark,  to  the  ear  of 
heaven;  triumphant,  declamatory,  beseeching,  full 
[28] 


IN   THE   VALLEY   OF  THE   FOUNTAIN 
of  defiance,  of  mockery  and  laughter  until  at  last 
it  ceased,   dying  away   among  the   neighbouring 
gorges,  as  soft  as  a  kiss. 

"What  was  that?"  demanded  the  mandarin 
excitedly,  putting  his  head  out  of  the  sedan. 

"  That  is  Ma  Shue's  daughter,"  said  several 
voices  at  once,  "the  girl  with  a  tongue  of  a  hun- 
dred spirits." 

"  On  with  you  and  stop  your  chattering,"  cried 
the  mandarin. 

Ma  Shue,  the  old  farmer  of  the  Valley,  stood 
watching  from  the  door  of  his  rice-thatched  cot- 
tage the  procession  winding  down  the  mountain 
path. 

"Where  is  she?"  demanded  the  mandarin, 
stepping  hastily  from  his  chair. 

"  How  greatly  honoured  is  my  poor  and  miser- 
able abode,"  murmured  the  old  farmer,  bowing 
repeatedly. 

"Where  is  she?"  demanded  the  mandarin 
again,  as  he  peeped  about  the  corners  of  the  cot- 
tage and  through  the  open  door. 

"  I  am  ashamed  to  set  before  your  honourable 
self  the  wretched  food  we  live  upon,"  apologised 
the  old  man  as  he  followed  at  the  heels  of  the 
mandarin. 

"  Go  get  her,"  commanded  the  mandarin  im- 
patiently as  he  peered  into  the  cottage. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  murmured  the  farmer  hastily,  "  but 
[29] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
for  the  poor  our  food  is  not  sufficient;  how  can  it 
be  tasted  by " 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  old  coxcomb? 
Have  you  not  a  daughter?  " 

"Alas,  Great  Sir,  it  is  true,  I  have  been  un- 
fortunate  " 

"  Go  get  her  at  once,  at  once,"  interrupted  the 
mandarin  excitedly. 

"  How  can  I,  how  can  I  ?  "  asked  the  old  man, 
bowing  with  trepidation. 

"  How  can  you  ?  "  mocked  the  mandarin  scorn- 
fully. "  How  can  you  ?  Because  I  ordered  it.  I, 
Ho  Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth  Rank."  And  Ho 
Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth  Rank,  scowling  with 
dignity,  stepped  back  and  folded  his  hands  majes- 
tically on  his  stomach. 

When  the  farmer  returned  he  bowed  mutely 
before  the  mandarin. 

"Well?"  he  demanded. 

"  I  told  her;  yes,  yes,"  cried  Ma  Shue,  "  she  is 
coming." 

"When?" 

"  She  said,"  and  the  old  farmer  looked  uneasily 
at  the  feet  of  the  mandarin,  "  she  said " 

"Well?" 

"  When  she  got  ready " 

It  was  a  long  time  before  a  soft  patter  was 
heard  in  an  adjoining  room  whence  came  low, 
amused  laughter;  then  a  light  flutter  of  garments, 
[30] 


IN   THE   VALLEY   OF   THE   FOUNTAIN 
and    the    tea-farmer's    daughter    entered.    Cast- 
ing a  hasty  glance  at  the  mandarin  she  turned  her 
back  on  him  with  a  haughty  but  almost  imper- 
ceptible toss  of  her  head. 

For  some  moments  the  mandarin  looked  at  her 
in  astonishment,  yet  with  intense  satisfaction. 

"  Maid." 

"  Man." 

The  mandarin  started,  his  eyes  opened  to  the 
utmost  of  their  narrow  width  and  he  glared  at 
the  old  man  shivering  in  his  chair. 

"Did  I  not  hear  you  singing  this  morning?" 
he  demanded  severely. 

"  Your  knowledge  should  be  greater  than  mine," 
she  replied  coldly. 

"Were  you  singing?" 

"  I  am  always  singing." 

"Were  you  not  in  a  tea-thicket?" 

"  I  should  be  at  my  work  now." 

"  Then  it  is  settled.  I  heard  you  singing.  You 
see  I  am  quick  in  my  judgment  as  well  as  sagacious. 
Will  you  sing  for  me  ?  " 

"Sing  for  you?"  she  repeated  in  soft,  amazed 
tones.  "Sing  for  you?  Why?" 

"  I  am  Ho  Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth 
Rank " 

"  I  never  sing  for  mandarins,"  she  interrupted 
decisively. 

"What?" 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  My  song,"  she  replied  in  cold,  careless  tones, 
"  is  for  the  birds  and  tea-pickers  of  the  Valley,  but 
not  for  wolves  or  tigers  of  the  Yamen." 

The  mandarin  became  rigid;  the  old  father's 
pipe  fell  from  his  hand  and  the  daughter,  cast- 
ing a  fleeting  glance  at  him  continued,  her  voice 
becoming  suddenly  gentle  and  humble : 

"  But  your  coming  down  into  our  valley  is  as 
the  turning  of  raindrops  into  pearls." 

The  mandarin's  countenance  beamed  with 
pleasure. 

"  By  my  Fifth  Button,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  be- 
lieve you  could  be  taught  something." 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  impossible,"  she  murmured 
contritely. 

"Never!  You  allow  these  rustics "  and 

Ho  Ling  glared  his  challenge  around  the  room. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued  meditatively  as  she 
turned  her  head  slightly  toward  him,  "  a  shrub 
may  appear  lofty  in  the  desert  and  a  tea-plant 
among  the  tea-plants  is  not  small  but,"  she  looked 
at  him  out  of  the  corner  of  her  eye,  "  I  am  only  a 
fragile  weed  in  the  shadow  of  the  luxuriant 
pine." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  he  replied,  settling  back  in  his 
chair  with  supreme  satisfaction.  "  It  is  true.  I  am 
Ho  Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth  Rank." 

The  farmer's  daughter  with  unconscious  coquet- 
tishness  turned  her  head  slightly  toward  him  so 
[32] 


IN    THE   VALLEY   OF   THE    FOUNTAIN 
the  rose  brown  of  her  cheek  and  her  full  lustrous 
eye  were  visible. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  mandarin's  self- 
contemplation,  a  chime  of  laughter  pealed  through 
the  room.  Tossing  her  head,  the  child  of  the  Tien 
Mu  Mountains  glanced  roguishly  at  the  astounded 
mandarin  and  darted  laughing  through  the  door- 
way. Again  and  again  came  the  birdlike  notes, 
until  in  the  distance  they  ceased  in  a  silvery  echo. 

"  Call  her!  "  shouted  the  mandarin,  rushing  to 
the  door. 

The  old  man  bowed  excitedly. 

"Call  her!  Get  her!"  cried  the  mandarin, 
turning  fiercely  on  the  old  farmer. 

"What  can  I  do?"  he  mumbled  pathet- 
ically. "  She  is  gone.  You  do  not  understand,  she 
moves  as  the  kin  deer,  she  is  as  wild  as  the 
pheasant." 

The  mandarin  returned  to  the  doorway  and  re- 
mained for  a  long  time  in  moody  silence.  Pres- 
ently he  turned  to  the  farmer. 

"  Let  it  be  known  that  Ho  Ling,  Mandarin  of 
the  Fifth  Rank,  will  depart." 

And  the  old  man  skipped  gleefully  from  the 
room. 


[33] 


CHAPTER   TWO 
THE   VICEROY 

HANGCHAU,  the  capital  of  Che  Kiang, 
rests  haughtily  upon  its  hills  in  full  view 
of  the  ocean.  Its  granite  walls,  more 
than  thirty  miles  in  circumference,  higher  than  a 
four-storied  building  and  wide  enough  on  top  for 
four  vehicles  to  drive  abreast,  extend  north  from 
the  river  Tsien  toward  a  vast  plain  that  stretches 
out  an  unending  garden  threaded  with  a  thousand 
strands  of  silvery  waterways.  South  of  the  city 
along  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay  is  another  mighty 
garden  spotted  with  clumps  of  trees,  covered  with 
luxuriant  crops  and  villages  nestling  in  groves  of 
feathery  bamboo;  westward  is  the  lake  of  Si  Hu, 
and  beyond,  a  wide  amphitheatre  of  wooded  hills 
and  mountains. 

Hangchau,  like  Che  Kiang,  has  an  antiquity  of 
its  own  and  though  it  stands  to-day  one  of  the 
world's  great  cities,  so  it  has  stood  for  innumerable 
ages,  more  or  less,  in  the  manner  Marco  Polo 
saw  it  in  the  thirteenth  century,  "  pre-eminent  to 
all  other  cities  in  the  world  in  point  of  grandeur 
and  beauty  as  well  as  from  its  abundant  delights." 

In  that  uncertain  antique  age  when  Babylon 
[34] 


THE   VICEROY 

rested  securely  within  its  hundred-mile  wall  pierced 
by  eighty  brazen  gates;  when  the  massive  town  of 
Troy  frowned  down  upon  the  troubled  waters  of 
the  Xanthus,  and  Darius  peered  anxiously  from 
Persepolis  across  the  plains  of  Merdueth,  even 
then  was  Hangchau  a  city.  And  now  while  Baby- 
lon is  but  a  mud-mound  on  the  willow-fringed 
banks  of  the  Euphrates,  Troy  a  myth,  and  jackals 
come  forth  when  the  moon  is  high  to  howl  where 
once  kings  commanded — yet  Hangchau  lives, 
thrives,  and  is  great. 

Another  wonder  of  Hangchau  other  than  its 
antiquity  and  greatness  is  the  Lake  of  Si  Hu,  a 
lake  transparent  as  a  diamond,  its  brilliant  surface 
gleaming  and  fluttering  amongst  dark  green  hills 
for  many  miles  in  irregular  circuit.  On  the  north, 
west,  and  southwest  rise  picturesque  mountains 
whose  slopes  along  the  lake's  edge  are  laid  out 
in  groves  and  gardens,  beautiful  though  fantastic; 
having  here  and  there  temples,  palaces  and  pa- 
godas, while  numbers  of  fanciful  stone  bridges  are 
thrown  across  the  arms  that  reach  out  among  the 
hills.  About  over  the  waters  great  numbers  of 
barges  gaily  decorated,  sail  to  and  fro,  the  passen- 
gers dining,  smoking  and  enjoying  the  breezes 
which  blow  down  from  the  higher  mountains,  as 
well  as  the  gay  scenes,  the  whimsical  gardens, 
palaces,  pagodas,  and  overhanging  groves. 

This  lake,  so  like  a  jewel  in  its  brilliancy,  is 
[35] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
studded  with  innumerable  islands  adorned  with 
palaces  and  temples  and  on  one  of  the  larger 
islands,  near  the  north  shore,  is  a  viceregal  palace 
used  as  a  suburban  dwelling  by  the  Viceroy  of 
Chukiang. 

One  spring  afternoon,  when  the  pink  petals  lay 
strewn  about,  the  Viceroy  sat  in  the  sun  on  a 
marble  terrace  thoughtfully  munching  his  melon 
seeds,  occasionally  throwing  one  to  the  goldfish 
and  turtles  that  crowded  toward  the  terrace  bank, 
snuffling,  flopping  but  impatient  to  be  fed.  On  a 
high  ebony  table  beside  his  pipe  and  tea  bowl  lay  a 
package  of  papers  and  at  intervals  the  Viceroy  re- 
perused  some  part  of  their  contents,  then  placidly 
resumed  his  melon  seeds,  gazing  over  the  lake  to 
the  hills  bright  in  their  spring  foliage,  to  the 
slopes  pink  with  blossoms,  to  the  lake's  edge, 
fringed  with  the  feathery  bamboo.  The  shadow 
of  a  wutung  tree  slowly  creeping  across  the  ter- 
race passed  over  the  table  and,  hiding  his  bare 
grey  head  from  the  warm  rays  of  the  spring  sun, 
aroused  him  from  his  meditation ;  again  he  looked 
over  the  papers  then  raised  his  hand. 

In  a  moment  Ho  Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth 
Rank,  came  from  an  adjoining  pavilion  and  bowed 
before  him. 

"  I  have  read  these  reports,"  said  the  Viceroy 
gruffly,  decisively  tapping  the  package  of  papers. 
"  They  are  guilty,  and  to-morrow  shall  die." 
[36] 


THE   VICEROY 

The  mandarin  bowed. 

"Justice,"  continued  the  Viceroy, 
cellent  thing — when  not  delayed;  to  put  off  the 
punishment  of  the  guilty  is  to  destroy  the  dignity 
of  the  state — a  procrastinating  Justice  is  the  buf- 
foon of  the  populace.  Do  you  understand?  "  And 
squinting  his  eyes,  the  Viceroy  surveyed  inquisi- 
tively the  mandarin,  who  bowed  repeatedly,  un- 
easily. 

"  You  were  one  day  late." 

The  mandarin  continued  bowing. 

"  Well !  "  demanded  the  Viceroy,  impatiently 
tapping  the  papers  that  were  spread  upon  his 
knees. 

«  I  stopped " 

"  Yes?  "  interrupted  the  Viceroy. 

"  I  could  not  get " 

"  Eh.?  " 

The  mandarin  bowed  fervidly. 

"Where  did  you  stop?" 

"  In  the  Heavenly  Mountains,"  he  answered 
furtively. 

"  In  the  mountains?  " 

The  Viceroy  uttered  these  three  words  weigh- 
ingly. 

"  That  is — in  a  little  valley — a  very  little 
valley." 

"  Ah,"  and  for  a  moment  the  Viceroy  looked 
at  him  in  silence.  "What  valley?" 
[37] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

The  mandarin  became  became  sallow.  "  My 
poor  memory " 

"  I  will  call  your  escort." 

"  When  I  think  of  it,"  put  in  the  mandarin 
hastily  and  with  trepidation,  "  the  name  comes  to 
me — it  is  the  Valley  of  a  Fountain." 

"Why?" 

"  Great  Sir,"  answered  the  mandarin  with  an 
excited  burst  of  confidence,  "  I  am  to  marry  the 
daughter  of  this  valley." 

"Ah?"  A  sympathetic  inquisitiveness  was  in 
the  Viceroy's  voice.  "  I  suppose  you  will  now  want 
a  leave  of  absence?  " 

The  mandarin's  face  became  suffused  with  joy. 
Nothing  could  have  prevented  him  from  bowing 
repeatedly. 

"  Well,"  commanded  the  Viceroy  impatiently, 
"  this  only  daughter,  is  she  well  dowered?  " 

"  Great  Sir,  I  do  not  know;  I  do  not  care !  "  he 
cried  excitedly. 

"  What !  "  demanded  the  Viceroy,  peering  at 
him  in  amazement. 

"  O  Great  Sir,  if  you  could  but  see  her  you 
would  understand  that  she  is  richer  than  wealth 
itself;  it  you  could  but  hear  her  you  would  under- 
stand how  my  desires  are  as  spring  freshets  surg- 
ing against  Time's  wintry  constraint " 

"Ah?"  The  Viceroy  uttered  this  with  a  great 
depth  of  feeling. 

[38] 


THE   VICEROY 

"  Yes,  yes,"  went  on  the  mandarin  hurriedly, 
never  lifting  his  eyes  from  the  floor,  "  Fate,  the 
Judge,  decreed  it,  and  Fate,  the  Jailor,  pulled  me 
into  it.  As  I  was  passing  along  a  mountain  path, 
suddenly  from  out  of  the  tea-shrubs  came  sweeter 
music  than  the  song  of  the  phoenix — the  Song  of 
Fate.  My  escort  stopped  and  I  was  unable  to 
make  them  amble  onward.  I  can  now  understand 
how  the  flute  of  Liang  Kiang  stole  away  the 
courage  of  eight  thousand  men.  My  escort  stood 
breathless  while  in  vain  I  blustered  and  threat- 
ened. I  was  obliged  to  send  a  horseman  to  find 
out  the  source  of  the  song  and  I  found  the 
phoenix-singer  to  be  a  girl  living  in  the  valley.  My 
escort  became  mutinous,  then  like  a  gleam  of  sun- 
light shafted  through  a  black  rebellious  storm 
flashed  the  thought  of  gain  for  Your  Excellency 
— a  musician  rarer  than  any  in  the  Middle  King- 
dom— and  it  determined  me  to  go  down  in  the 
glade. 

"  When  the  girl's  father  learned  that  I  was  Ho 
Ling,  Mandarin  of  the  Fifth  Rank,  he  told  me 
confidentially — confidentially,  that  is  the  way  it 
was — that  his  daughter  lingered  in  the  outer  room 
tearful  to  see  the  hem  of  my  robe.  So  I  admitted 
her  thinking  that  I  might  be  of  great  service  to 
Your  Excellency.  When  she  bowed  down  before 
me  she  trembled  with  delight " 

"What  was  her  appearance?"  demanded  the 
[39] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
Viceroy,    interrupting   the   mandarin's   breathless 
monologue. 

"  O  Great  Sir,  if  I  had  all  the  wisdom  of  nine 
times  the  Nine  Classics  I  could  not  describe  her. 
She  is  not  beautiful  in  the  manner  of  the  women  of 
Hangchau.  Her  big  eyes  are  round  like  those  of 
'oxen,  but  charged  with  most  unoxen  fires.  She 
does  not  dainty  along  with  golden  lilied  feet  as 
the  women  here,  but  ankled  as  the  kin  deer  and 
winged  as  the  wild  pheasant,  she  derides  the  very 
rocks  and  mountains.  Her  cheeks  of  almond 
flower  the  jealous  sun  has  lacquered  over  with 
ruddy  gold  and  her  pouting  lips  are  so  pent  full 
of  ruby  blood  that  they  would  turn  the  honestest 
man  into  a  thief  if  he  could  but  perform  the  sub- 
tle theft  of  gaining  them. 

"And  yet,  Great  Sir,  I  do  not  know  whether 
you  would  have  called  her  beautiful  or  not  before 
I  conquered  her,  for  she  had  somewhat  of  the 
devil  in  her." 

"You  conquered  her?"  demanded  the  Viceroy, 
eying  him  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  mandarin,  scowling  proudly 
into  the  tree  tops.  "  I  conquered  her,  but  not  more 
by  my  personality  than  by  stratagem  for,  as  Your 
Excellency  well  knows,  I  am  not  unskilled  in  that 
contentious  art." 

"So  you  captured  her?"  queried  the  Viceroy 
again,  somewhat  sarcastically. 
[40] 


THE   VICEROY 

"  Yes,  she  came  haughtily  into  my  pres- 
ence  " 

"And  kissed  the  hem  of  your  robe?"  inter- 
rupted the  Viceroy. 

"  Exactly,  exactly,  a  figure  of  speech ;  I  have 
renamed  her  humility — haughtiness.  But  in  con- 
tinuation, when  she  beheld  me  and  heard  me  speak 
in  fluent  familiarity  the  wisdom  of  the  ancients, 
her  rebellious,  warring  heart  sent  at  once  through 
every  dainty  vein  its  bold  scouts  that  for  them- 
selves did  redly  dare  the  combat.  Her  eyes  be- 
came a  perfect  arsenal  and  the  arched  bow  of  her 
lips  shot  from  some  inexhaustible  quiver  shafts 
divinely  smeared  with  a  poppy  that  would  lull 
into  dreams  the  most  valorously  inclined  defence. 

"  Ah,  it  would  have  done  Your  Excellency  a 
world  of  good  if  you  could  but  have  seen  how  her 
eyes,  her  lips,  and  even  the  shy  little  dimples,  which 
hid  in  her  cheeks  and  chin,  contended  as  jealous 
allies,  each  first  to  make  a  breach  in  the  hitherto 
impregnable  fortress  of  my  heart. 

"  But  like  a  wise  general,  I  simulated  dismay, 
abandoned  my  outer  works,  and  retreated  to  the 
keep.  Straightway  the  jealous  allies  scaled  the 
walls.  I  opened  the  inner  gates  and  they,  sur- 
charged and  petulant  with  fancied  victory,  rushed 
in.  There  was  a  momentary  struggle,  then  she 
yielded,  and  now  remains  a  willing  captive  in  the 
very  donjon  of  my  heart." 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

For  some  time  the  Viceroy  eyed  the  mandarin 
in  a  manner  unappreciative  and  in  no  way  to  his 
liking. 

"Ho  Ling!" 

The  mandarin  started  violently. 

"  You  are  still  an  ass." 


[42] 


CHAPTER   THREE 
THE   WIFE 

A  Destiny  fated  it,  the  Viceroy  himself  mar- 
ried, that  summer,  the  daughter  of  the 
tea-farmer  and  not  Ho  Ling,  Mandarin 
of  the  Fifth  Rank. 

More  than  a  year  had  passed  since  the  Vice- 
roy had  married  this  farmer's  daughter  from  the 
Valley  of  the  Fountain,  which  extraordinary  event 
had  been  duly  commented  upon  by  the  gentry  of 
Hangchau  and  had  been  forgotten.  But  with  the 
Viceroy  it  was  different.  Though  many  months 
had  mysteriously  vanished  he  was  still  an  uneasy 
bridegroom  unable  in  any  degree  to  resume  that 
tranquil  state  he  had  enjoyed  years  before. 

"  Tranquillity  of  the  spirits,"  said  a  guest  one 
day,  "  is  the  culmination  of  a  scholar's  life ;  it  is  the 
essence  of  propriety;  the  golden  mean  between  the 
heart  and  the  mind." 

"  Undoubtedly,  undoubtedly,"  replied  the  Vice- 
roy gruffly,  "  but  there  is  no  happiness  in  it." 

So  the  Viceroy,  while  by  no  means  tranquil,  was 
happy.  And  though  a  year  had  rushed  hastily 
away,  he  still  paced  restlessly  back  and  forth  be- 
[43] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
fore  a   richly  carved  screen;  waiting,    frowning, 
biting  his  under  lip. 

Suddenly  stopping  in  his  impatient  pacing,  he 
clapped  his  hands  and  an  old  woman  timidly 
entered. 

"Is  she  coming?"  he  demanded  in  a  voice  of 
mingled  anxiety  and  doubt. 

"  Great  Sir,  she  will  be  here  in  just " 

"Get  out!  I  will  not  tolerate  this  any  longer; 
not  another " 

A  soft,  tinkling  laugh  from  behind  the  screen 
caused  him  to  turn,  startled,  uneasy;  a  gentle 
rustle  and  the  tea-farmer's  daughter  entered. 

The  deer-like  freedom  of  her  home  was  altered; 
she  came  slowly  into  the  room  with  graceful  but 
restrained  hauteur.  Her  rich,  brown  skin  was  now 
white  as  an  almond  petal;  in  her  cheeks  wavered  a 
transparent  pink  but  her  lips  were  as  red  as 
ever  and  her  eyes  shone  with  the  same  liquid 
brightness. 

Bowing,  she  said  mockingly,  u  Most  impatient 
and  ungentle  Great  Sir,  you  are  angry  at  my 
delay?" 

"  No,  no,  just  bothersome  dispatches " 

"  Indeed !  then  I  shall  leave  you  to  consider 
them  in  peace."  Tossing  her  head  she  turned  to 
leave  the  room. 

"Just  a  moment!  Just  a  moment!"  cried  the 
[44] 


THE    WIFE 

Viceroy  hastily.  She  stopped  with  her  back  to  him. 
"  I  have  a  necklace  of  pearls." 

"  Yes?  "  she  inquired  carelessly. 

"You  wish  it?" 

She  could  hear  the  pearls  trickling  through  his 
fingers. 

"Ah,  do  you  not  admire  it?" 

"  I  have  not  seen  it,"  she  answered  curtly. 

"  I  am  seated  on  the  divan  here." 

"  I  am  standing  by  the  door." 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  take  these  pearls?  " 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  bring  them  to  me  ?  " 

The  Viceroy  got  up,  hesitated,  then  came  and 
stood  beside  her.  She  held  out  her  hand  and  he 
wrapped  the  necklace  around  her  palm  and  wrist, 
while  a  childish  happiness  dimpled  her  cheeks  as 
she  admired  and  fondled  the  gold-strung  baubles 
from  the  sea. 

"  They  would  be  most  beautiful,"  she  said,  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  a  smile  that  brought  a  flush  to 
his  face,  "  did  not  the  jewelled  kindness  that  sug- 
gested them  dim  their  brilliancy." 

"  Eh?  Yes,  yes,"  his  Excellency  bowed.  "  Pearls 

are  a  very  worthy  jewel — unfortunate women 

have  not  their  attributes " 

"What  are  they?"  she  demanded,  throwing 
back  her  head. 

"  Why,  why,  Time's  incrustations " 

[45] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Yes?  "  she  inquired,  with  such  a  mocking  chill 
in  her  voice  that  it  caused  him  to  lower  his  eyes. 
"  Yes,"  she  repeated,  walking  over  to  a  table 
where  an  inkstone  lay,  "  it  is  quite  true  that  what 
Time  adds  yearly  to  the  pearl,  it  steals  from  a 
woman's  cheek  but,"  she  put  the  pearls  in  the  wet 
ink  and  with  the  tip  of  her  tiny  forefinger  rubbed 
them  around  and  around  until  they  were  but  a 
blackened  mass,  "  you  see,"  she  continued  naively, 
"  that  they  are  alike  in  a  way." 

"Isn't  it  strange?"  she  murmured,  still  rub- 
bing her  little  finger  tip  among  the  blackened  jew- 
els. "  Isn't  it  strange?" 

The  Viceroy  stood  immovable,  while  a  net- 
work of  purple  veins  began  to  spread  across  his 
face. 

The  wife's  hands  rested  for  a  moment  on  his 
shoulders,  then  seizing  his  ears,  pulled  him  down 
into  a  chair. 

"You  are  not  angry?"  she  said  consolingly. 

The  Viceroy  looked  up  at  her  reproachfully. 

"  I  know  it  was  very  wrong,"  she  said  with  con- 
trition. 

He  eyed  her  questioningly. 

.  "  Do  you  think,"  she  frowned  and  her  tones  be- 
came threatening,  "  that  my  father  did  not  teach 
me  gratitude?" 

"  Yes,    yes,"    answered    the    Viceroy    hastily. 

"  Yes;  economy  is  a  woman's  highest  virtue " 

[46] 


THE    WIFE 

"Economy  in  what?"  she  demanded,  straight- 
ening up  and  looking  down  at  him  coldly. 

He  moved  restlessly  and  tried  to  say  some- 
thing. 

"  Money!  "  she  repeated  with  scorn.  "I  knew 
you  would  say  that!  Money!  Oyah!  A  pool  of 
filth  where  men  are  defiled  and  drowned — bah !  " 
She  stamped  her  little  foot  fretfully,  and  threw 
the  pearls  on  the  floor. 

"Would  you  let  wealth  all  run  away?"  he 
asked  pathetically. 

"  Does  not  a  running  stream  irrigate  more 
fields  than  a  pond?  Is  there  not  more  purity  in  a 
brook  than  in  a  stagnant  pool?" 

His  Excellency  sighed  deeply. 

"Why  don't  you  learn  other  economy?"  She 
leaned  over  him,  pouting  her  red  lips  like  a  teas- 
ing child.  "  Why  don't  you  be  economical  of 
punishments,  wasteful  of  mercy,  and  treat  greed 
as  a  rogue?  Because,  my  husband,"  and  taking 
hold  of  his  ears,  she  tilted  his  head  back,  "  I  think 
whoever  is  a  miser  in  punishments  and  a  spend- 
thrift of  compassion,  not  only  hoards  up  inestima- 
ble treasure,  but  practises  the  economy  of  heaven." 

"  That  is  true,"  mumbled  the  Viceroy,  thickly, 
"very " 

"  It  is  not!  "  she  interrupted,  letting  go  his  ears 
and  stamping  her  foot. 

"Not  true?" 

[47] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  It  never  happens." 

"  That  is  so,"  replied  the  Viceroy  in  a  relieved 
tone. 

"It  is  not!" 

«  What " 

"  Because  you  could  make  it  so  if  you  wished." 
Speaking  these  words  in  half  whispering  tender 
tones,  she  again  took  hold  of  his  ears  and  looked 
down  into  his  eyes,  serious,  begging. 

"  Will  you  promise  me  not  to  have  any  more 
prisoners  beheaded  this  week?" 

"  Again !  " 

"  Will  you  promise?  "  she  pulled  harder  on  his 
ears. 

"  But— but " 

"Promise  I" 

"  Yes." 

"  And  you  will  send  away  that  thin,  wicked 
lictor?" 

"  Eh  ?  Yes,  yes ;  he  is  a  rogue." 

"  And  you  will  rebuild  the  hospital  at  Ho 
Yong?" 

<l  No,  no;  a  waste  of  money." 

"You  won't?  "  she  pulled  his  ears  again.  "  Not 
even  for  me?  "  Her  red  lips  parted  and  her  breath 
blew  warm  upon  his  cheek. 

The  viceroy  moved  restlessly,  hopelessly. 

Her   lips,    just    touching    his    ear,    whispered, 
<l  Only  that  one  little  promise,  my  husband," 
[48] 


THE    WIFE 

A  tremor  passed  through  the  Viceroy's  great 
frame. 

"  Yes,"  he  muttered  in  a  thick  voice,  lifting 
his  hands  to  clasp  her  to  him  but  in  that  instant  she 
stood  beyond  his  reach,  her  face  flushed  and 
dimpled  with  smiles. 

Distant  she  stood,  looking  at  him,  smiling,  blush- 
ing, mocking;  then  taking  his  fat  face  between  her 
little  hands  she  tilted  it  back,  laughing  softly  a 
laugh  like  the  low  notes  of  a  woodwarbler. 

He  raised  his  hands. 

She  frowned. 

His  hands  fell  and  her  smiles  came  again. 


[491 


BOOK   II— TWO    UNKNOWNS 


CHAPTER   ONE 
THE    YOUNGER 

IT  is  necessary  to  go  back  some  years  prior  to 
the  time  of  the  typhoon  through  whose  swirl 
of  devastation  two  priests  from  the  French 
Mission  of  Yingching  had  struggled  and  survived, 
in  order  that  by  some  knowledge  of  their  past, 
though  it  is  extremely  meagre,  a  better  understand- 
ing may  be  had  of  the  events  concerning  which 
this  book  is  written. 

Whether  the  brilliant  crepuscular  rays  from  the 
western  sky,  the  darkness  with  its  labyrinthian  un- 
certainty, the  mangling  crunch  of  the  wind,  the 
conflagration  of  the  heavens,  the  crucifix,  chaos, 
then  the  calm  sun  of  noonday  are  only  symbolic 
of  these  priests'  lives,  or  has  in  it  a  more  material 
prognostication  of  their  future,  cannot  be  judged 
until  the  last  words  have  been  written. 

Concerning  the  early  life  of  these  two  priests 
nothing  is  known  of  the  old  man  and  but  little  of 
the  youth  prior  to  the  time  with  which  this  book 
deals,  although  it  is  said  that  the  younger  priest 
came  from  Bretagne,  first  from  an  old  ruin  called 
the  Chateau  Carhaix-sur-Mer,  then  from  a  mon- 
astery at  St.  Pol  de  Leon,  which  knowledge 
[53] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
is  important  in  explaining  his  melancholy  seclusive- 
ness,  his  endless  meditation:  for  this  melancholy 
silence  of  the  Bretons  comes  with  their  land,  a  gift 
of  the  Sorrow  of  God. 

The  Chateau  Carhaix-sur-Mer  in  which  this 
Breton  priest  spent  his  childhood  stands  on  the 
edge  of  a  ravine  that  runs  through  a  moorland 
lying  between  a  stretch  of  woods  and  the  cliffs. 
The  town  of  Lanilis  is  south  of  it;  Plouzevede 
and  Lesneven  are  to  the  eastward,  while  Plouneur- 
Trez  is  north. 

The  sea  along  this  coast  is  safest  when  it  frowns 
and  most  dangerous  when  it  smiles. 

It  has  been  likened  to  a  woman. 

From  the  Chateau  he  was  taken  to  a  Jesuit 
monastery  and  college  in  St.  Pol  de  Leon,  a  town 
of  monasteries  and  nunneries  and  churches,  which, 
like  itself,  are  the  patchwork  of  different  ages. 
From  almost  its  very  beginning  until  now  the  cob- 
bled streets  of  this  old  town  have  been  filled  with 
monks  and  priests,  while  bevies  of  white-hooded 
nuns  have  flitted  silently  through  its  shadows  as 
pigeons  on  the  roof-tops  and  in  their  comings  and 
goings  have  left  no  trace  of  their  passage.  Thus 
this  grey  old  town,  with  its  slumbers,  its  periodical 
bustle  at  Pardons  and  its  endless  decay,  exists  as 
those  who  dwell  in  it — but  to  mourn  and  to  pray. 

In  the  moss-cowled  monastery,  where  only  the 
chanting  of  monks  was   heard  or  other  sounds 
[54] 


THE   YOUNGER 

equally  solemn,  the  sombreness  of  the  Breton  was 
changed  to  a  gentler  melancholy  and  the  Spirit  of 
Christ  is  said  to  have  so  deeply  affected  him  that 
when  he  departed  from  the  monastery  for  the  Mis- 
sion in  China,  an  old  monk,  kneeling  in  the  shadows 
of  the  gateway  asked  his  blessing,  saying: 

"  I  discern  a  martyr." 

The  Mission  of  Yingching  Is  not  without  its 
history  and  its  antiquity.  China  has  always  been 
a  tempting  field  for  missionary  effort  and  from 
the  time  the  spirit  of  proselyting  first  took  hold  of 
men  there  has  been  no  nation  that  has  not  at  some 
time  or  other  sent  into  this  old  land  their  priests 
and  missionaries,  their  apostles  and  martyrs. 

Christianity  is  not  very  old  in  any  part  of  the 
world,  as  far  as  the  age  of  the  world  goes,  but  it 
is  far  older  in  China  than  most  people  believe; 
older  there,  in  fact,  than  in  any  other  part  of  the 
world  outside  the  cradle  of  its  infancy. 

During  those  years  so  momentous  to  the  Roman 
Church,  when  her  monks,  penetrating  through  the 
gloomy  forests  of  Europe,  sought  the  conversion 
of  the  Goths  and  the  Vandals,  the  old  Bavarians 
and  Alemanni,  there  were  at  that  time  in  China 
more  Christians  than  in  all  these  sombre  woods. 
And  while  the  monks  with  those  devout  females, 
Bertha  of  Kent,  and  Clotilda,  Queen  of  the  Franks, 
were  bringing  over  by  intrigue  their  recalcitrant 
lords  to  a  quasi-Christianity,  the  Nestorian  Fath- 
[55] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
ers  in  Asia  were  gaining  through  education  their 
tens  of  thousands  of  adherents.  When  Co- 
lumban,  the  Irish  monk  of  Banchor,  with  Boni- 
face, the  English  monk  from  Devon,  were  labour- 
ing among  the  Saxons  and  Goths,  cutting  down 
their  sacred  oaks,  overturning  their  altars  and  at 
last  securing  the  crown  of  martyrdom  at  the  hands 
of  our  exasperated  forefathers,  the  Nestorians 
were  building  schools  and  founding  colleges,  so 
that  toward  the  end  of  the  eighth  century  there 
were  in  China  more  Christians  than  to-day  dwell 
in  the  whole  of  Asia. 

But  when  ambition  and  lust  of  power  crept  into 
the  aims  of  the  Nestorians  their  influence  began  to 
decline;  when  they  made  education  secondary 
and  intrigue  the  first  element  in  conversion  faith 
in  them  was  destroyed;  their  power  crumbled; 
their  beliefs  vanished  and  now  all  that  is  left  of 
their  multitudinous  congregations  is,  in  the  ancient 
city  of  Singanfu,  a  pillar  of  stone. 

Though  the  Mission  of  Yingching  was  founded 
'  more  than  three  hundred  years  ago  the  present 
site  or  compound  dates  back  only  to  the  middle 
of  the  nineteenth  century  when,  after  the  city  ex- 
muros  had  been  destroyed  by  the  bombardment  of 
French  gunboats,  the  Catholic  Church  took  pos- 
session of  a  large  tract  of  land  in  the  western 
suburbs,  which  was  afterwards  divided  into  two 
portions;  an  enclosed  tract  in  which  is  the  Mission, 
[56] 


THE  YOUNGER 

containing  nearly  eleven  acres  and  an  open  space 
some  six  hundred  feet  in  width  between  the  south- 
ern wall  of  the  compound  and  the  river.  This 
vacant  tract  had  been  part  of  the  land  seized  by 
the  Church  after  the  bombardment,  but  owing  to 
the  strenuous  and  persistent  opposition  of  the 
Chinese  provincial  authorities  as  well  as  the  in- 
habitants of  the  city  to  the  Church  acquiring  such 
a  large  piece  of  land  in  the  populous  western 
suburbs,  a  compromise  was  finally  agreed  upon 
whereby  the  Church  was  confirmed  in  its  title  to 
eleven  acres,  while  the  Chinese  were  to  retain 
ownership  to  the  tract  between  the  Mission  and 
the  river  but  were  not  to  erect  buildings  upon  it 
or  to  prevent  in  any  way  the  Mission  from  en- 
joying the  cool  winds  of  the  river  or  having  free 
access  to  their  boats.  So  this  tract  of  land  remained 
an  open  field  in  the  midst  of  a  crowded  population. 
The  Mission  is  surrounded  by  a  wall  some  fif- 
teen feet  in  height,  having  two  gates.  The  main 
entrance  placed  on  the  north  while  from  the  south 
wall  a  gate  opens  into  the  field,  through  which 
entered  those  coming  from  the  river.  Buildings 
accommodating  several  hundred  native  communi- 
cants, schools,  quarters,  and  other  establishments 
necessary  to  a  Mission  are  arranged  in  quadran- 
gles, these  quadrangles  in  turn  forming  a  large 
semi-quadrangle  paralleling  the  enclosing  walls 
other  than  on  the  north  side,  which  gave  the  quad- 
[571 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
rangles  as  a  whole  the  form  of  the  letter  E,  the 
bishop's  residence  forming  the  centre  stroke  while 
between  it  and  the  north  gate  stands  a  chapel, 
solitary  and  massive. 

The  quadrangles  are  one-storied,  constructed  of 
blue  pressed  brick,  covered  by  dark  tiles.  Around 
the  sides  and  between  each  run  pillared  cloisters. 
The  intervening  courts  and  spaces  are  planted  with 
shrubs  and  flowers,  while  vines  and  ivy  cling  to 
the  pillars  of  the  cloisters  sometimes  covering 
the  wide-spreading  eaves. 

The  chapel  that  stands  just  within  the  north 
gate  is  built  entirely  of  dark  granite  in  the  early 
Visigothic  manner  of  architecture,  when  that  type 
had  not  yet  freed  itself  from  Roman  construction. 
It  is  a  parallelogram  with  perfectly  plain  exterior. 
The  only  windows  are  along  the  sides,  narrow  and 
high,  with  a  bar  of  iron  running  lengthwise  through 
the  centre.  Looking  at  this  chapel  from  the  side 
it  resembles  a  prison,  while  the  front,  with  low 
vaulted  doors  is  as  cold  and  forbidding  as  a  tomb. 
It  in  no  way  has  the  appearance  of  a  Catholic 
church;  neither  plain  nor  flying  buttresses,  neither 
pinnacles  nor  porches,  nor  niches.  It  is  without 
ornamentation;  about  it  is  not  a  line  but  what  is 
sombre  and  desolate.  Within,  the  chapel  is  not  less 
gloomy  than  it  is  without.  The  central  nave,  tun- 
nel-vaulted, is  always  dim  with  shadows,  while  the 
two  side  aisles,  separated  from  the  central  nave 
[58] 


THE  YOUNGER 

by  a  row  of  dark  lacquered  pillars,  are  low,  tomby. 
In  the  semicircular  apse,  groined  and  dim,  is  an 
altar  of  blackwood,  its  front  ornamented  with  two 
dragons  coiled  in  contention  and  having  over  their 
open  mouths  a  cross  with  golden  rays — symbolic 
of  the  Mission  itself  and  its  aspiration. 

To  this  Mission,  some  ten  years  before  the 
Breton  priest  had  left  the  Monastery  of  St.  Pol 
de-Leon,  a  stranger  came,  dropping  down  like  a 
wild  bird  in  its  flight.  No  one  knew  from  what 
place  he  had  come,  hence  they  spoke  of  him  always 
as  the  Unknown.  The  bishop  treated  him  with 
deference. 

This  stranger  lived  alone  in  the  southwest  quad- 
rangle next  to  the  outer  wall,  dwelling  there  for 
two  years  in  complete  seclusion.  After  that  he 
went  out  labouring  as  a  priest  among  the  people. 
But  it  was  said  that  while  he  was  scrupulous  in 
the  performance  of  his  religious  duties  yet  he  was 
never  known  to  make  a  convert.  When  any  of  his 
fellow-priests  attempted  to  ask  him  a  question  he 
raised  his  eyebrows  and  they  became  hushed.  No 
one  was  ever  known  to  ask  him  twice.  He  seldom 
spoke  and  when  he  did,  he  growled  or  com- 
manded; when  he  acted,  his  actions  were  final.  He 
wandered  everywhere,  driven  hither  and  thither 
by  an  unrest  of  his  own.  He  knew  the  city  inti- 
mately and  the  labyrinths  of  its  suburbs ;  the  fields 
adjoining  and  the  villages  beyond  the  fields.  He 
[59] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
would  be  gone  a  fortnight,  return  to  the  Mission 
for  a  day  or  two  and  then  go  away  for  a  month. 
Where  he  had  been  no  one  dared  to  inquire  and 
only  on  one  occasion  were  his  acts  known. 

The  village  of  Sam  Ma  is  distant  from  Ying- 
ching  about  thirty-five  miles  by  boat  and  almost 
twenty  by  paths  across  the  rice-fields  and  hills. 
During  one  fifth  moon  cholera  broke  out  in  this 
village,  and  in  the  midst  of  the  epidemic  the  Un- 
known appeared.  He  assumed  command  over  the 
village;  segregated,  doctored,  punished,  rewarded, 
beat,  buried.  In  the  beginning  the  villagers  obeyed 
because  they  feared  him;  in  the  end,  they  were 
obedient  because  they  worshipped  him.  But  when 
the  epidemic  was  over  and  the  elders  went  to  his 
house  to  express  their  gratitude,  they  found  it 
empty. 

Nevertheless,  the  inhabitants  of  Sam  Ma  still 
perpetuate  the  memory  of  this  Unknown  man  in 
their  customary  manner.  And  if  any  traveller, 
reading  these  lines,  should  go  to  their  village,  which 
is  situated  on  the  river  of  the  Falling  Brook  he 
will  find  on  a  wooded  knoll  just  without  the  walls, 
a  shrine  standing  next  to  the  Temple  of  the  God- 
dess of  Mercy.  Within  this  shrine  on  an  ebony 
altar  covered  with  a  gold-embroidered  mantle  is 
a  tablet  before  which  burns  a  taper  by  day  and 
night.  This  tablet  bears  a  name  and  beside  it  these 
words : 

[60] 


THE   YOUNGER 

"  He  looked  upon  the  people  as  he  would  on 
a  man  that  is  wounded;  he  looked  for  the  path  of 
righteousness  as  if  he  could  not  see  it." 

Such  is  all  that  has  been  discovered  concerning 
this  mysterious  man  and  it  was  into  this  environ- 
ment that  the  Breton  priest  came  from  the  Monas- 
tery of  St.  Pol  de  Leon.  It  is  said  that  at  once  this 
gloomy  man  and  the  youth  found  out  each  other 
in  a  way,  not  unlike  that  reciprocal  attraction 
wherein  the  tempest  finds  on  the  sea's  calm  bosom 
rest  and  lightning  finds  fire  in  the  hearts  of  rocks. 

Henceforth,  the  older  man  ceased  to  disappear 
or  even  leave  the  Mission  unless  accompanied  by 
the  Breton.  They  studied  together,  travelled  to- 
gether, enduring  hardships  and  dangers.  It  was 
noted  that  while  one  loved  and  growled,  the  other 
loved  and  was  silent;  for  whole  days  they  uttered 
not  a  word  and  it  was  this  mutual  taciturnity, 
which  is  the  surest  sign  of  love  between  men,  that 
made  an  unbreakable  strand  in  the  net  that  Fate 
was  in  due  time  to  cast  and  to  draw  in. 


[61] 


BOOK   III.     THE    BEGINNING 


CHAPTER    ONE 
PRO    DEO   ET    ECCLESIA 

IT  is  not  a  matter  to  wonder  at  that  the  Mis- 
sion of  Yingching  was  founded  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  sixteenth  century, — an  age 
known  elsewhere  for  its  deception  and  cajolery, — 
but  it  is  remarkable  that  M.  Ricci  should  remain 
the  greatest  of  its  bishops  though  more  than  three 
centuries  have  gone  by. 

From  the  beginning  of  that  eventful  day  when 
the  Viceroy  granted  him  permission  to  build  a 
little  house  where  he  might  forget  his  hours  in 
prayer  and  study,  until  he  had  laid  secure  the 
foundations  of  this  Mission,  which  even  Time  and 
innumerable  vicissitudes  have  not  destroyed,  the 
life  of  Ricci  was  passed  more  brilliantly  than  any 
of  his  successors.  While  most  of  them  have  faith- 
fully continued  his  policy,  they  have  done  so  only 
with  that  crudity  that  is  to  be  expected  from  the 
efforts  of  mediocre  men  when  they  seek  to  emu- 
late the  schemes  of  master  minds. 

The  successes  of  the  bishop  had  been  many;  the 
fruition  of  his  schemes  was  continuous  and  like 
the  orange  tree  there  mingled  promiscuously  to- 
[65] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
gather  the  sprouting  bud,  the  bloom,  and  the 
golden  fruit.  Yet  numerous  as  had  been  his  vic- 
tories they  were  all  overshadowed  by  one  fail- 
ure— the  securing  of  a  foothold  within  the  walls 
of  Yingching.  Many  had  been  the  schemes  care- 
fully planned  toward  this  end,  only,  through  some 
fatality,  to  fail.  But  the  bishop  smiled  and  was 
hopeful,  for  no  one  knew  better  than  he  that  in 
the  march  of  ill-fortune  there  are  to  be  found 
points  of  attack  called  opportunities,  which  as- 
sailed at  the  right  moment  end  in  victory;  one 
must  watch  and  wait;  when  there  is  seen  a  gap  or 
point  of  weakness,  fall  upon  it — perhaps  to  be  re- 
pulsed, perhaps  to  succeed.  So  the  bishop  waited 
and  watched  as  ill-fortune  in  a  lazy,  long  column 
filed  by.  Often  he  had  made  the  attack  and  failed 
but  he  was  not  disheartened  nor  did  his  failures 
ever  alter  the  serenity  that  men  noted  on  his  brow, 
a  serenity  that  was  conspicuous. 

One  day — which  might  be  called  the  beginning 
day  of  this  history — the  bishop  was  seated  in  his 
study  with  a  peasant  woman  kneeling  before  him, 
and  on  his  lips  played  or  twitched  that  peculiar, 
unfathomable  smile  which  someone  once  said  was 
the  shadowy  echo  of  a  scheme's  contented  laughter. 

"  Yes,"  the  bishop  repeated  musingly,  "  you  will 

secrete  yourself,  listening  to  all  that  is  said,  seeing 

all  that  is  done,  and  report  to  me  each  day.  You 

must  undertake  to  gain  her  confidence  as  much  as 

[66] 


PRO    DEO    ET    ECCLESIA 

possible  and  do  nothing  that  may  cause  her  dis- 
pleasure." 

The  bishop,  tapping  the  tips  of  his  fingers  to- 
gether, settled  back  in  his  chair  and  smiled,  one 
might  almost  say,  rapturously. 

"  Since  this  matter  is  arranged,  you  may  go," 
he  said,  leaning  forward  and  looking  down  at  the 
woman  that  knelt  at  his  feet.  "  But  remember," 
he  continued  with  gentle  firmness,  firmness  that 
left  no  doubt,  "  that  you  are  first  the  servant  of 
God  and  afterwards  the  maid  of  Tai  Lin's  wife. 
Never,  as  you  value  your  soul,  neglect  to  report 
to  me  all  that  is  said  and  done  each  day  between 
the  priest  and  this  wife.  Go  and  obey!  " 

A  hesitant  knock  aroused  the  bishop  from  his 
musings.  The  Breton  priest,  entering  softly,  knelt 
down  and  received  his  blessing  then  rising,  stood 
dreamily  waiting. 

For  some  time  the  bishop  sat  rubbing  with  both 
forefingers  his  high,  narrow  nose.  And  as  he  con- 
templated the  handsome,  sad  Breton  a  satisfied 
smile  passed  across  his  covered  lips. 

"  I  have  new  duties  for  you,"  he  said  presently 
in  soft,  thoughtful  tones.  "Tai  Lin,  the  former 
Viceroy  of  Chekiang,  has  asked  for  a  tutor  to 
instruct  his  young  xwife,  and  I  have  selected  you." 

The  Breton  made  no  sign  that  he  heard. 

"Do  you  understand  what  that  means?"  de- 
manded the  bishop  with  purring  severity  as  he 
[67] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
leaned  forward,  pressing  his  bony  knuckles  against 
the  sides  of  his  knees.  "  God  has  intrusted  you 
with  its  accomplishment,   and  there  must  be  no 
failure  in  tasks  imposed  by  Him. 

"Tai  Lin  is  one  of  the  richest  men  in  this 
province,"  he  continued  meditatively,  as  he  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  struck  stiffly  together  the  tips 
of  his  bloodless  fingers.  "  Some  say  his  wealth  is 
limitless ;  this  to  a  degree  is  true,  for  I  know  that 
he  alone  owns  the  great  Erh-tung  mines  of  white 
copper  in  Yunnan;  the  camphor  groves  of  Si 
Kiang  belong  to  him;  the  jade  mines  of  Yu-Shan, 
and  those  boundless  forests  of  teak  that  lie  be- 
tween the  Me  Kong  and  Song  Ho  rivers;  besides 
• — there  is  his  great  park  in  the  heart  of  Ying- 
ching." 

For  some  moments  the  bishop  sat  silent,  his 
eyes  half  closed,  his  fingers  motionless. 

"  Yes,   that  magnificent  park,   that  wonderful 

park But  this  young  wife,  have  you  heard 

of  her?"  he  demanded,  suddenly  sitting  up. 

Again  the  Breton  looked  at  him  questioningly. 

"  She  was  a  tea-farmer's  daughter,  beautiful, 
it  is  said,  as  a  wild  animal,  and  though  permitted 
to  run  wild  among  the  hills  and  woodlands  she 
acquired  some  learning  the  reputation  of  which, 
no  doubt,  spread  among  the  neighbouring  villages 
and  finally  reached  the  ears  of  Tai  Lin,  then  Vice- 
roy of  Chekiang.  The  beauty  of  this  woman  must 
[68] 


PRO  DEO  ET  ECCLESIA 
be  of  some  subtle,  tireless  kind  if  we  are  to  believe 
in  rumour  and  the  influence  she  has  over  Tai  Lin 
seems  to  prove  it.  He  is  less  than  a  child  in  her 
hands.  He  does  not  seem  to  have  any  desire  that 
is  not  hers  nor  any  pleasure  or  thought  in  life  that 
does  not,  in  some  manner,  revolve  about  her. 

"  Strange,  strange,  that  a  woman  with  no  other 
power  than  fleeting  beauty  or  the  skim  of  learn- 
ing should  rule  so  absolutely  a  man  accustomed 
to  be  despot  over  tens  of  millions.  It  is  said  that 
within  a  month  after  she  entered  the  palace  at 
Hangchau  her  influence  was  felt  in  all  directions. 
Tai  Ling  was  a  Confucian  when  he  married  this 
tea-farmer's  daughter,  a  ridiculer  of  all  religions, 
yet  she  caused  him  to  rebuild  the  Buddhist  Temples 
of  Yoh  Miao  and  Ting  Tzy;  found  hospitals  and 
schools;  send  caravans  loaded  with  food  to  the 
starving  in  Kwangsi  and  Shensi.  She  does  what- 
ever she  pleases  with  him.  This  man  to  whom  the 
Emperor  has  given  the  title  of  Great,  is  a  nonen- 
tity; he  amounts  to  nothing;  the  wife  is  everything. 
What  could  be  more  fortunate?" 

Again  the  bishop  relapsed  into  silence,  while  the 
eyes  of  the  Breton-  looked  meditatively  along  the 
book  shelves  behind  him. 

"  Such  are  the  ways  of  God,  and  nothing  is  more 
beautiful  than  His  compassion  in  so  deeply  instill- 
ing in  the  heart  of  woman — even  against  her  own 
acts — religion's  spirit,  causing  her  to  yield  to  the 
[69] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
agency  of  His  ministers  and  become  an  instrument 
in  their  hands  for  the  salvation  of  mankind  1  Thus 
this  very  creature  that  caused  man's  fall  and  the 
desolation  of  God's  garden,  becomes  an  aid  in  his 
redemption.  That  villainous  curiosity  that  caused 
her  to  spy  around  among  the  leaves  of  the  For- 
bidden Tree  still  forces  her  into  the  thick  foliage 
of  her  husband's  thoughts;  while  that  insatiable 
appetite  that  made  her  devour  the  apple  that  led 
to  earth,  still  insatiable,  causes  her  to  hunger  for 
that  fruit  that  shall  again  unlock  the  Gates  of 
Heaven.  And  just  as  she  tempted  man  forth  from 
Paradise  by  the  deliciousness  of  desire,  so  shall 
she  lead  him  back. 

"  If  she  alone  can  persuade  him  to  build  tem- 
ples, found  hospitals  and  give  aid  to  the  starv- 
ing, how  beneficent  will  prove  her  labours  under 
proper  tutelage!  If  she  can  cause  Buddhist  mon- 
asteries to  be  built  she  can  erect  Roman  cathe- 
drals; if  she  can  scatter  money  broadcast  among 
these  hungry  heathen,  she  can  fill  the  coffers  of 
our  Mission.  But  beyond  all  of  this  there  is  some- 
thing else." 

The  bishop  suddenly  ceased  speaking  and  his 
black,  cavitous  eyes  closed  as  he  tilted  back  his 
head.  , 

"  You  know,"  he  resumed  thoughtfully,  "  how 
our  predecessors  have  laboured  without  success  to 
gain  a  foothold  within  the  walls  of  the  city  and 
[70] 


PRO  DEO  ET  ECCLESIA 
how  we  have  followed  in  their  footsteps.  Now,  at 
last,  the  Eye  of  God  looks  down  upon  us:  this 
opportunity  allowed  by  Him  must  not  be  neglected. 
You  must  spare  no  effort  nor  fail  to  use  any  means 
to  save  her  soul;  to  accomplish  this  end  whatever 
means  are  employed,  God  will  sanction.  Exaltibi- 
mus  te,  Domine." 

For  a  long  time  the  bishop  gazed  steadily  at  the 
Breton,  and  the  deep  silence  was  only  broken  by 
the  cracking  of  his  knuckles  as  he  pulled  one  finger 
after  another. 

Presently  he  lay  back  in  his  high  ebony  chair, 
and  a  dim  ray  of  light  shafted  in  from  the  high- 
barred  casement  rested  upon  his  pallid  face:  his 
thin,  tight  lips  parted  in  a  smile,  while  his  hands, 
whitish  and  long,  clasped  to  his  breast  an  ivory 
cross  imaged  with  the  Christ. 

The  Breton  waited,  with  eyes  lowered  dreamily 
before  him. 


CHAPTER   TWO 
THE   SCHOLAR 

A  FEW  days  after  the  Breton  had  received 
his  instructions  from  the  bishop  he  was 
summoned  to  the  palace  of  Tai  Lin,  thence 
peremptorily  to  an  apartment  belonging  to  his 
Excellency's  wife,  the  tea-farmer's  daughter.  This 
room,  with  its  alternate  slabs  of  rose  and  white 
marble,  its  walls  hung  with  curtains  of  crimson  silk 
embroidered  down  the  centre  in  characters  of  gold; 
its  beams  and  pillars  lacquered  a  dark  red  and 
overcast  by  a  tracery  of  golden  filigree,  was  filled 
with  an  amber  light  that  a  sun  ray  shooting 
through  a  shell-latticed  window  diffused  among  its 
shadows. 

The  Breton  had  stood  for  some  time  beside  one 
of  the  pillars,  waiting  without  restlessness  or  im- 
patience the  coming  of  his  scholar,  when  uncon- 
sciously he  raised  his  head  and  looked  expectantly 
toward  the  carved  screen-work — a  mass  of  gold 
and  sang-de-boeuf  lacquer — that  reached  to  both 
sides  of  the  room  and  from  the  ceiling  to  the 
marble  floor. 

Suddenly  a  chime  of  music,  which  was  laughter, 
filled  the  room,  bringing  a  flush  to  his  face.  The 
[72] 


THE    SCHOLAR 

first  chime  no  sooner  died  away  than  came  another 
and  another;  never  in  his  life  before  had  there 
fallen  about  him  such  sounds — like  music  laugh- 
ing, or  laughter  from  a  bird's  throat.  Had  that 
been  heard  in  his  native  land,  it  would  have  been 
honoured  with  a  shrine.  The  melancholy  peasants 
rising  from  their  knees  before  its  sanctuary  would 
have  said,  "  Is  it  not  true  that  Bretagne  is  under 
the  Eye  of  God?  Over  yonder  the  Devil  is  buried 
beneath  Mont  St.  Michel  and  now  the  Virgin  is 
heard  to  laugh." 

So  the  eyes  of  the  Breton,  propped  open  wide 
with  wonder,  stared  at  the  screen.  But  not  another 
sound  was  heard  until  the  wife  said  softly: 

"  Priest,  come — sit  here." 

For  an  instant  he  hesitated,  then  went  over  to 
the  screen  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  of  teak  and 
mother-of-pearl,  which  had  been  placed  beside  it. 
He  heard  a  trembling  silken  rustle,  then  the  room 
was  again  filled  with  the  music  of  the  wife's 
laughter. 

"Why,  priest,"  she  exclaimed  in  the  midst  of 
her  merriment,  "  your  eyes  are  really  blue  1  Who 
would  ever  have  thought  such  a  thing!  Bluel 
Isn't  that  strange  1  "  she  added  wonderingly. 

The  Breton  bowed  his  head,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  Look  up !  "  she  commanded. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  crevices  near  his  head. 
[73] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Priest,"  said  the  wife  presently,  her  voice  still 
gentle  with  wonder,  "  if  your  eyes  were  not  so 
soft,  I  would  say  they  were  sapphires;  were  they 
not  so  strangely  bright,  I  would  say  they  were  as 
the  sky  when  the  moon  loiters  behind  the  moun- 
tains. So  these  are  the  eyes  of  devils " 

The  Breton  took  no  notice  of  her  comments. 

"And  you  are  the  priest,"  she  drawled  pres- 
ently. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  softly,  "  a  priest  of  God." 

"  And  what  have  you  come  to  teach  me, 
priest?  "  she  inquired,  mockery  and  laughter  trem- 
bling in  her  demure  tones. 

"  As  the  bishop  has  ordered." 

"  Indeed!  "  she  commented  disdainfully.  "  And 
what  did  he  order?  " 

"  To  save  your  soul,"  replied  the  Breton  rever- 
ently, "  for  the  glory " 

The  laughter  of  the  wife  interrupted  him. 

p  And  he  sent  you  to  do  it?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  apologised,  "  the  bishop  has  sent 
me." 

"  How  thoughtful  of  him !  No  doubt  you  will 
succeed  I  " 

"  Yes,  God  will  be  here,"  he  answered  simply. 

"Why  did  not  the  bishop  send  someone 
else?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  did  not  ask  to  come?  " 
[74] 


THE   SCHOLAR 

"  No." 

"  Indeed !  If  he  asked  you  to  go  elsewhere  to- 
morrow, would  you  go?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Oh,  very  well.  I  may  not  want  you  any  more. 
I  am  not  at  all  firm  in  my  desire,  and  you  are  so 
young.  My  last  teacher,  who  had  had  the  learn- 
ing of  seventy  winters,  said  the  ignorance  of  youth 
was  really  pitiable,  especially  in  men.  No;  I  don't 
think  you  will  do,"  she  commented  with  candour, 
"  not  at  all." 

The  Breton  gazed  dreamily  through  the  half- 
opened  shell-latticed  window,  and  only  the  restless 
hopping  and  chirp  of  the  thrushes  in  the  golden 
bamboo  cages  broke  the  silence,  or  sometimes  a 
dulled  sound,  which  was  the  noise  of  the  surround- 
ing city  in  its  labour. 

"  Priest,"  her  voice  came  from  just  above  him, 
and  as  he  turned  his  head,  a  ring  set  with  a  large 
pear-shaped  pearl  dropped  from  the  crevices  into 
his  lap.  He  looked  up  and  tried  to  speak.  His  lips 
moved,  but  that  was  all,  for  just  overhead  a  little 
pink  finger  tip  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  crevices. 

"  Oh,  you  need  not  thank  me,"  she  exclaimed 
coldly,  "  that  ring  is  not  for  you.  It  is  for  your 
bishop,  who  wishes  to  save  my  soul." 

"  Yes,  he  wishes  it,"  the  Breton  answered 
thoughtfully,  as  he  fingered  the  ring  in  his  lap. 

"And  you?" 

[751 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  I  shall  pray  for  you." 

"Indeed!" 

"  Yes,  I  will  teach  you,"  he  added  gently,  obliv- 
ious of  her  mockery. 

"What?" 

"  To  love  God  and " 

"  How  monotonous  you  are,  priest,"  she  inter- 
rupted impatiently. 

"  No,"  he  answered,  looking  gravely  up  to  the 
crevices,  "to  love  God  is  not  monotonous;  to 
pray  to  Him  is  happiness." 

"  I  suppose  you  pray  all  the  time?  "  she  asked 
with  mock  compassion. 

"Yes;  ad  Jesum  crucifixion." 

"  I  never  heard  of  Him,"  she  commented 
lightly. 

"  Our  Lord,  who  was  crucified." 

"Indeed!  And  what  had  He  been  doing?" 

"  He  died  to  save  men." 

"  How  useless !  "  she  sighed. 

"  From  the  crucifix  came  the  cross ;  from  tor- 
ture, salvation." 

"  Dreadful!  And  you  pray  to  Him?  " 

"Yes;  to  Jesus  crucified,"  he  answered  softly. 

"  Let  me  hear  you,"  she  commanded  uncon- 
cernedly as  though  thinking  of  other  things. 

The  Breton,  bowing  his  head,  began  in  a  low 
monotonous  tone.  "  Eu,  amantissime  Jesu,  qui 
sponsae  sanguinum  mihi  esse  voluisti  ad  pedes  tuos 
[76]. 


THE   SCHOLAR 

prosternor,  ut  meum  in  te  amorem  debitamque 
gratitudinem  contester.  Sed  quid  rependam  tibi  mi 
Jesu " 

After  the  first  few  words  of  the  Breton's  prayer 
the  wife  began  to  laugh,  at  first  softly  to  herself, 
but  as  the  Breton  continued,  her  merriment  in- 
creased until  the  music  peals  of  her  laughter 
stopped  him  completely. 

"What  a  noise  you  are  making!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "  I  never  heard  such  sounds !  "  And  she 
fell  again  to  laughing.  "You  must  not  mind  my 
laughter,"  she  said,  breathless,  "  I  cannot  help  it. 
You  never  laugh  ?  "  she  inquired  when  her  merri- 
ment had  subsided. 

11  No." 

"  I  did  not  think  so.  I  laugh  all  the  time.  But 
then  you  are  a  priest,"  she  added  consolingly. 
"  Are  you  going  to  finish  your  prayer?  " 

The  Breton  looked  hesitantly  at  the  screen,  then 
resumed  his  prayer.  "  Mi  Jesu,  qui  usque  in  finem 
dilexisti  me  ?  Manibus  ac  pedibus  imo  et  cordi  tuo 
inscripsisti  me,  magno  sane  et  conspicuo  charac- 
tere.  Quis  mihi  hoc  tribuat  ut  sicut  tu  me,  ita  et 
ego  te  cordi  meo  inscriptum  circumferam.  O 

"  No,"  interrupted  the  wife  meditatively,  "  I 

would  not  say  that  your  hands  were  disagreeable 

to  look  at.  My  honourable  husband  told  me  that 

the  hands  of  foreigners  were  speckled  and  covered 

[77] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
with  red  hairs  like  the  wood  spider — just  think  of 
it !  But  I  should  say  that  your  hands  are — you  can 
put  on  that  ring,  if  you  wish." 

The  Breton  did  not  touch  the  pearl  in  his  lap. 

"  I  said  you  could  put  on  that  ring,"  she  enjoined 

imperiously.  "No,   on  the  other  hand;   yes 

Now,  go  on  with  your  prayer." 

And  once  more  the  Breton  began  his  prayer  to 
the  crucified  Christ. 

"  O  Jesus  quam  profuso  mi  charitatis  effectu 
complexus  es  qui  non  tantum  manus  et  pedes, 
verum  et  opulentissimum  pectus  mihi  operiri  volu- 
isti,  ut  inexhausto  bonorum  coelestium  affluentia 
desiderium  meum  expleas " 

"  And  priest,"  his  Excellency's  wife  again  inter- 
rupted with  the  same  meditative  interest,  "  I  would 
not  say  that  it  is  annoying,  either,  to  look  at  your 
face.  Do  you  know,"  she  added  naively,  "  that  I 
was  almost  afraid  to  see  you?  I  did  not  know  what 
you  would  look  like.  My  honourable  husband  has 
been  telling  me  of  the  English,  who  have  a  wad  of 
red  hair  on  each  cheek;  isn't  that  frightful?  "  And 
she  laughed  softly  to  herself,  merrily  as  a  child. 

"  You  never  even  smile,  do  you?  " 

He  made  no  answer. 

"  I  do  not  think  so;  your  face  is  too  sad.  And 
I  suppose,"  she  sighed  deprecatingly,  "  that  it 
comes  from  all  this  dull  praying." 

The  Breton  was  looking  sorrowfully  across  the 
[78] 


THE    SCHOLAR 

room  to  the  sunlit  shells,  opalescent  in  the  latticed 
windows. 

"Are  you  going  to  finish  your  prayer?"  she 
asked  with  mock  wonder. 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  steadily  up  to 
'the  crevices. 

"  You  do  not  wish  it,"  he  said  sadly. 

"I  do !  "  she  exclaimed,  petulantly  slapping  the 
screen. 

"  Salve,  O  benedictum  vulnus  lateris  tui  mi 
Jesu !  Salve,  O  fons  amoris,  O  thesaure  inaestima- 
bilis,  O  requies  animae  meae  ausimne  benignissime 
Jesu." 

As  the  Breton  uttered  these  lines,  he  turned  his 
eyes  once  more  toward  the  crevices  whence  she 
spoke. 

"  Ad  sacram  hanc  aram  ad  hoc  sanctum  sanc- 
torum, accidere  ardens  que  amore  cor  turum." 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  interrupted,  a  subdued 
tremor  in  her  voice,  "  I  don't  believe  that  devils 
have  such  eyes.  They  are  like  the  ocean.  I  was 
on  the  sea  once  when  I  came  here  from  Hangchau 
and  I  watched  the  waters.  I  noticed  the  sea, 
though  always  blue,  the  blue  changed.  Sometimes 
shadows  swift  or  faltering  crept  into  it,  and  oh, 
how  sad  it  was !  Suddenly  these  dark  waters  would 
become  light.  I  never  saw  such  brightness.  The 
sea  smiled  and — don't,  please  don't  look  at  me," 

[79] 


CHAPTER   THREE 
HOMO!   MUTATO! 

WHILE  the  weeks  and  then  months  that 
followed  the  Breton's  advent  into  the 
palace  of  Tai  Lin  were  as  widely  differ- 
ent to  the  past  years  of  his  life  as  is  sunlight  to 
sorrow,  yet  in  themselves  these  weeks  varied  but 
little. 

Unseen  and  impregnable  behind  her  great 
screen  the  tea-farmer's  daughter  usurped  all  the 
liberties  of  her  childhood.  She  mocked  his  learn- 
ing, derided  his  God,  then  whispered — which  was 
another  way  of  caressing;  and  when  the  Breton 
looked  up,  injured  yet  forgiving,  to  the  crevices 
above  his  head,  she  filled  the  room  with  the  music 
peals  of  her  laughter,  sometimes  coldly  derisive, 
again  like  a  rapturous  song  dropped  from  a  heaven 
unconjectured  by  the  Breton  priest. 

In  the  beginning  only  two  men  in  the  Mission 
noticed  that  a  lingering  uncertainty  had  come  into 
his  actions;  a  greater  dreaminess  into  his  preoc- 
cupation and  a  brightness  into  his  melancholy 
eyes.  As  weeks  went  on  he  became  more  hurried 
and  restless,  so  that  even  a  vagueness  came  at  times 
into  his  prayers.  This  was  apparent  to  many,  but 
[80] 


HOMO!   MUTATO! 

they  attributed  it  to  Breton  eccentricity,  and  they 
would  have  been  confirmed  in  this  belief  had  they 
watched  him  leave  the  Mission  in  haste,  then  after 
passing  through  the  Great  Southern  Gate,  go  for- 
ward reluctantly.  When  he  reached  the  park 
entrance  he  often  passed  it,  wandered  about,  or 
sought  refuge  in  the  Tower  of  the  Water  Clock, 
where  dripped,  dripped,  dripped  those  relentless 
drops  meditatively  from  their  ageworn  jars  of 
granite. 

In  the  late  afternoons  when  the  lessons  were 
over  and  the  wife  had  dismissed  him  in  silence,  or 
scornfully  or  with  laughter,  he  left  the  park  only 
to  move  unconcernedly  through  the  streets,  ap- 
parently seeing  nothing;  not  even  hearing  the 
multitudinous  cries  and  noises  that  resounded 
about  him.  He  was  drifted  along  like  flotsam  in 
their  currents  and  carried  around  through  their 
endless  windings  until,  as  flotsam,  he  was  tossed 
up  on  the  threshold  of  the  Mission  gates. 

At  first  these  street  currents  brought  him  back 
to  the  Mission  more  or  less  quickly.  But  as  time 
hastened  on  they  began  to  take  him  further  and 
wider  in  their  drift  or  leave  him  stranded  momen- 
tarily or  longer  in  some  temple  grounds,  or  on 
the  river's  bank,  until  at  last  sundown  did  not  find 
him  at  the  Mission  and  after  a  while  dusk  crept 
in  before  him. 

One  night  he  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  cloister  out- 
[81] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
side  of  his  door.  His  eyes  were  half  closed,  a  faint 
upward  curl  fluttered  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth, 
a  fulness  pouted  his  lower  lip.  He  had  been  sit- 
ting thus  for  a  long  time  when  the  Unknown  priest 
came  and  stood  looking  down  at  him  steadfastly, 
weighted  with  intuition — a  gaze  to  be  avoided. 

Presently  he  began  to  talk  aloud  to  himself. 

'  It  has  come." 
'  Spontaneous?" 
'  Yes." 
'Fungoid?" 

1  No ;  it  takes  a  night  to  produce  a  mushroom 
and  only  a  minute  to  shrivel  it.  An  instant  pro- 
duces this  or  a  mountain.  Ages  can  not  alter  it.  I 
know  of  no  name  unless  it  be  called  volcanic;  an 
upheaval,  a  something  from  the  depths;  made  up 
of  scoria  that  destroys  but  is  itself  indestructible." 

"  What  are  you  doing?  "  he  growled. 

The  Breton  looked  up. 

"  Are  you  asleep  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Are  you  praying?" 

"No." 

"  What  are  you  doing?  " 

"Thinking,"  the  Breton  answered  softly. 

"  A  bad  trick,"  he  grumbled  as  he  went  on, 
leaving  the  Breton  alone  in  the  night. 

It  was  in  this  manner  that  these  two  priests,  who 
had  for  so  long  a  time  been  inseparable,  drew  un- 
[82] 


HOMO!    MUTATO! 

consciously  away  from  each  other.  One  dreamed 
and  the  other  remembered:  two  extremes,  which 
look  alike  and  which  effectually  hid  from  the 
other  priests  the  parting  of  their  ways.  For  in- 
stead of  a  single  silence — which  had  been  mutual 
— came  one  both  double  and  divergent.  Two 
such  silences  cannot  drift  together.  Nothing  is 
more  selfish  than  self  communion. 

But  as  the  Breton  drew  off  more  and  more  to 
himself  he  did  so  so  unconsciously  that  his  affec- 
tion for  the  Unknown  was  in  no  way  diminished 
but  was  simply  put  away  in  one  of  those  inner 
chambers  of  the  heart  until — as  was  destined — 
it  was  brought  forth  again  unaltered  or  changed. 

The  Unknown  priest  now  went  on  his  journeys 
alone,  and  soon  drifted  back  to  that  solitary,  stern 
seclusiveness  in  which  he  had  lived  before  the  Bre- 
ton came.  Again  he  left  the  Mission  for  weeks  at 
a  time,  and  the  Breton  no  more  noticed  his  com- 
ings and  goings  than  did  the  others  that  dwelt  in 
the  Mission.  Both  priests  were  busy;  one  dreamed; 
the  other  succoured;  two  things  hard  to  wear  out 
or  become  threadbare. 

The  lessons  of  the  wife  began  about  an  hour 
after  midday  and  continued  until  she  left  the 
Breton  alone,  waiting  by  the  screen.  This  she  did 
peremptorily,  moodily,  in  laughter,  in  silence,  in 
mockery.  She  cajoled  him  when  it  was  her  humour, 
reprimanded  and  laughed  at  him.  She  questioned, 
[83] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
then  derided  his  answers.  She  wondered  and 
scorned — like  a  child  pouting  with  hauteur.  Yet 
in  the  midst  of  all  this  the  Breton  could  not  or 
did  not  care  to  distinguish  one  mood  from  another, 
for  as  music  is  music,  regardless  of  what  it  ex- 
presses, so  were  the  mood  tones  that  came  from 
behind  the  screen,  and  in  time  no  amount  of  scorn 
or  laughter  or  derision  could  alter  this  music. 

"  What  a  people  you  are,  priest,"  she  chided, 
"to  practise  benevolence  for  Heaven's  payment! 
Don't  you  know  that  men  are  fools  that  try  to 
make  themselves  the  creditors  of  Heaven?" 

She  lowered  her  voice  to  a  pleading  whisper: 
"  How  can  you  do  such  a  thing?  " 

The  Breton  looked  up;  contrition  flashed 
across  his  face  and  instantly  the  rooms  were  filled 
with  triumphant  laughter. 

But  while  her  mockery,  her  commands,  and  de- 
rision affected  him  in  no  way,  there  were  words, 
however,  which  were  spoken  in  such  inexplainable, 
whispering  tones  that  they  remained  with  him 
always.  And  after  he  came  to  enter  the  park  be- 
fore the  hour  of  midday  the  memory  of  these 
words  were  so  vividly  recurrent  in  the  song  and 
solitude  of  the  park  that  every  sunbeam  sent  them 
scintillating  through  his  revery.  The  memory  of 
one  word — and  he  was  hid  in  the  cloud  of  its 
thought. 

[84] 


HOMO!   MUTATO! 

As  when  a  rapid  rushes  down  over  a  cliff  and  a 
white  cloud  rises  from  the  gorge  without  any  will 
or  substance  of  its  own,  so  did  the  sudden  tumbled 
memory  of  her  half-whispered  words  cause  to  rise 
and  permeate  his  whole  consciousness,  a  mist- 
cloud  through  which  passed  an  iridescence  more 
beautiful,  more  brilliant  than  the  rainbow  in  the 
gorge. 

And  when  the  pehling  rose  from  the  meadow — 
a  song  shot  toward  heaven — the  Breton  stopped, 
held  his  breath,  so  near  was  its  song  like  her  laugh- 
ter or  her  chiding.  Thus  each  day  he  drifted 
rather  than  wandered  about  the  park  as  he  waited 
for  that  hour  when  once  more  he  should  be  seated 
beside  the  screen.  This  sombre  Breton,  moving 
half-restlessly,  half-contentedly  among  the  groves 
of  flowery  tamarix  and  wu-tung,  among  orchards 
of  bloomed  almonds  and  lichee;  along  hillsides 
terraced  in  orange  and  pomegranate;  beside  iris- 
circled  ponds  and  down  outstretching  streams, 
moved  in  a  sort  of  a  radiance,  not  incomparable 
to  a  bubble  adrift.  For  as  a  bubble  reflects  what- 
ever surrounds  it,  whether  upon  the  banks,  upon 
the  stream,  or  clouds  immeasurable  overhead, 
illuminating  with  inward  mysterious  brightness 
their  lights,  shades,  colours,  and  perspectives,  so 
his  nature  as  of  other  men  took  on  the  forms  and 
colouring  of  his  surroundings  and  like  a  bubble 
[85! 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
tinctured  them  with  a  radiance  that  came  from 
within  himself. 

Heretofore  the  Breton's  impressionable,  melan- 
choly nature  had,  as  a  bubble  in  the  gloom  of  a 
canon,  whirled  round  and  round  in  sombre  eddies. 
There  had  been  no  sunlight  since  the  dim  glimmer 
of  his  childhood — and  all  that  had  been  reflected 
in  him  whirling  along  through  the  cloistered  dusk 
had  been  a  shadow — devoid  of  change  as  well  as  of 
brightness.  But  now,  as  a  bubble  in  the  sunlight 
iridescent  with  a  myriad  hues,  he  drifted  along,  his 
happiness  modified  and  yet  illumined  by  the  melan- 
choly of  a  race  that  has  known  so  little  of  sun- 
shine and  so  much  of  Breton  gloom.  In  this  park 
there  was  not  a  flower  but  whose  brightness  was 
reflected  within  him;  every  nodding  blade  of  grass, 
the  water-fowls'  gay  plumage,  the  heavens,  the 
mist  clouds  adrift  like  himself  in  the  tranquil  air; 
the  double  brightness  of  sun  in  sky  and  stream. 
And  from  within  himself,  from  the  very  depths 
of  his  sombrous  nature,  shone  forth  that  some- 
thing, which  man  has  yet  to  name,  and  subtly  tinc- 
tured each  image  with  rainbow  tints. 

In  this  manner — not  uncommon  in  life — had 
the  Breton  been  precipitated  from  the  cloisters; 
not  into  the  world's  wild  meadow,  but  into  Tai 
Lin's  park.  This  had  all  happened  so  suddenly, 
so  completely,  that  it  was  as  impossible  for 
him  to  remember  the  time  when  this  sunlight  had 
[86] 


HOMO!   MUTATO! 

not  surrounded  him  as  it  was  to  conjecture  that 
inevitable  hour  when  setting,  he  would  again  be 
in  darkness;  not  the  shadow  of  the  past,  but  the 
darkness  of  one  that  had  known  the  sun. 

The  languorous  flash  of  the  Breton's  eye  spoke 
frankly,  even  insistently  of  this  change — for  the 
tongue  cannot  wag  one's  thoughts  more  carelessly 
than  are  the  eyes  loquacious  of  the  heart's  secrets 
— and  one  day  the  Unknown,  as  if  exasperated 
by  his  indifference,  took  roughly  hold  of  his  shoul- 
der and  demanded: 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you?  " 

The  Breton  looked  at  him  wonderingly. 

"  Do  you  know  that  for  two  months  you  have 
not  said  a  word?  I  doubt  if  you  have  prayed. 
You  no  longer  go  with  me.  What  are  you  dream- 
ing about?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  the  Breton  ab- 
sently. 

As  weeks  vanished,  or  rather  seemingly  blended 
into  an  hour,  which  had  just  past,  the  wife  of  Tai 
Lin  laughed  somewhat  less  at  him,  an  hesitancy 
sometimes  came  into  her  mockery;  impatience  flut- 
tered at  times  in  her  manner,  and  silences  began  to 
creep  in  more  frequently.  In  these  moments  of 
stillness,  when  only  the  sensuous  crinkle  of  silk  was 
heard,  the  caressing  tremor  of  the  fan  or  the  soft 
pulse  tap,  tap,  of  her  foot,  the  Breton  leaned  for- 
ward on  the  table. 

[87] 


CHAPTER    FOUR 
A    DRAGON    AND    THE    GROTTO 

A.ONG  the  waterfront  of  the  southern 
suburbs,  which  were  penned  in  between 
the  walls  of  the  city  and  the  river,  ran  a 
wide  wooden  bund  that  extended  for  some  distance 
over  the  water. 

The  street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens  leaving  the 
city  through  the  Great  Southern  Gate  debouches 
almost  into  the  middle  of  it,  at  which  place  it  has 
the  appearance  of  a  narrow  field,  so  wide  is  it,  and 
so  dense  and  multitudinous  are  the  suburbs  that 
crouch  beneath  the  old  south  walls  of  Yingching, 
with  its  towers  and  frown  of  a  thousand  years. 

Just  across  the  river,  with  its  myriads  of  quar- 
relling boats,  is  the  Monastery  of  Wa-lam-tze, 
where  five  hundred  monks  with  their  fowls  doze 
and  blink  in  alcoved  groves  or  in  halls  that  are 
of  marble.  Opposite  the  western  end  whirls  the 
black  pool  of  Pakngotam,  fathomless  at  this  place, 
but  connected  subterraneously  with  distant  points. 
A  pig  thrown  into  it  will  be  found  at  Ko-Chao, 
two  hundred  and  fifty  miles  away,  where  it  boils 
up  in  the  hollow  of  three  hills.  It  is  also  connected 
with  Chukow,  two  hundred  and  eighty  miles  dis- 
[88] 


A  DRAGON  AND  THE  GROTTO 
tant,  and  comes  up  for  the  last  time  at  Shukwan 
among  the  marshes  on  the  borders  of  the  southern 
sea.  Beyond  Pakngotam  is  the  monastery  Tai 
Tung,  where  the  earth  holds  a  mysterious  abyss 
that  is  a  source  of  terror  and  confidence,  for  the 
noxious  fumes  and  vapours  that  rise  out  of  it — as 
from  the  cleft  in  the  Temple  of  Phytia — presage 
tempests  on  land  and  sea.  When  a  storm  ap- 
proaches, even  at  a  great  distance,  a  thick  lurid 
mist  rolls  out  of  this  Dragon's  mouth  and  covers 
the  groves  of  the  Monastery.  It  is  believed  that 
these  vapours  are  forced  out  by  the  violent  beat- 
ings of  the  earth's  pulse,  that  are  no  other  than 
the  subterranean  streams  of  Pakngotam.  These 
pulsations  are  caused  in  distant  places  by  the 
storms'  weight  forcing  the  vapours  through  the 
veins  of  the  earth  to  the  Dragon's  mouth,  where 
they  are  spit  forth  as  warning  of  the  tempest's 
approach.  Thus  this  gigantic  barometer  portrays 
not  only  the  commiseration  and  sublimity  of  the 
gods,  but  their  watchfulness  over  the  old  city  of 
Yingching. 

During  low  water  the  bund  at  the  foot  of  the 
Street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens  is  used  for  the  execu- 
tion of  criminals,  although  there  is  a  Court  of 
Execution  not  far  from  the  southeast  corner  of 
the  city  walls.  But  this  portion  of  the  bund,  so 
wide  and  prominent,  is  almost  always  used,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  desired  to  make  a  greater  display 
[89] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
of    official    grandeur    and    the    Law's    vermilion 
majesty. 

The  Breton  in  leaving  the  park  of  Tai  Lin 
usually  passed  out  of  the  city  by  the  Great  South- 
ern Gate,  and  following  the  Street  of  the  Sombre 
Heavens  came  nearly  every  evening  to  this  part 
of  the  bund,  where  he  loitered  instead  of  continu- 
ing on  his  way  to  the  Mission.  Eventually  the 
bund  loafers  became  accustomed  to  his  tall  form 
standing  at  evening  motionless  on  the  bund's  very 
edge,  his  garments  blown  by  the  river's  wind,  and 
his  eyes  dreamily  lowered  on  the  floods  rolling  at 
his  feet. 

Men  passing  him  commented: 

"  Scholar." 

"  He  is  wasting  his  time." 

"  He  thinks,"  said  one. 

"  A  fool,"  replied  another. 

"  He  is  a  wise  man,"  growled  a  misanthrope. 

"Why?" 

"  He  is  thinking  of  jumping  into  bed." 

"  He  dreams,"  said  a  boat-woman. 

"About  what?"  demanded  a  slipper  boat-girl 
with  bated  breath. 

"  Who  knows,  Alinn,  when  the  dreamer  does 
not!" 

One  late  afternoon  as  the  sun  hung  red  in  the 
purple  mist,  which  rises  from  the  rice  fields  beyond 
Honam,  the  Breton  was  dreaming  as  usual  on  the 
[90] 


A  DRAGON  AND  THE  GROTTO 
bund's  edge  when  a  sampan  gondoliered  by  a  boat- 
girl  glided  to  a  landing  stair  not  far  from  him. 
Under  the  bamboo  awning  sat  a  foreigner  talking 
eagerly  to  her  as  she  moved  easily  and  gracefully 
her  ponderous  oar.  The  boat  passed  under  the 
bund.  Presently  the  foreigner  mounted  the  land- 
ing stage,  but  at  the  top  of  the  stairs  stopped  per- 
plexed and  uncertain,  then  pattered  hastily  over  to 
the  edge. 

"Hi!  Cumsha!  Hi!"  he  cried,  frantically 
shaking  his  umbrella  at  the  slipper  boat  as  it 
started  on  its  way  across  the  river. 

The  boat  trembled  momentarily  in  the  dark 
mighty  currents,  then  turned  slowly  around  and 
approached  that  part  of  the  bund  where  the 
stranger  stood  beside  the  Breton. 

"  I  know  you,"  he  commented,  as  he  glanced 
quickly  up  at  the  Breton,  "  but  look  at  that,"  and 
he  pointed  to  the  girl  as  she  moved  with  so  much 
grace  her  slender  craft.  "A  water  nymph,  sir, 
in  blue  pantlets !  I  am  the  Reverend  Tobias  Hook, 
and  I  tell  you,  my  young  friend,  there  is  not 
another  like  her  from  Wampoa  to  Wu-Chau ;  she 
is  a  vision  of  triple  dimples,  and  when  you  see 
them  you  will  ooze  with  envy.  What  an  ideal  for 
a  convert !  How  admirable  she  will  be  around  the 
house!  I  have  cumsha  for  you,  my  little  lost 
lamb,"  he  chirped  as  the  girl  steadied  her  boat  in 
the  currents  below  them. 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Throw  it  down,"  she  answered  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  way. 

"  My  poor  lamb,  will  you  not  answer?  " 

"What?" 

"What  I  spiritually  beseeched  of  you  in  the 
boat." 

"  I  forget." 

"Will  you  not  receive  what  I  offered?" 

"  I  am  afraid." 

"  Think  of  what  you  will  have." 

"  I  would  rather  have  that  cumsha." 

"Think!  think  what  you  will  have,"  he  re- 
peated ecstatically. 

"  This  is  my  sampan;  I  live  on  the  river  because 
I  was  born  here  and  will  die  here." 

"  Come  with  me,"  he  held  out  his  hands. 

"  Throw  that  cumsha  or  I  will  go." 

As  she  started  to  swing  her  great  oar  the  stranger 
threw  a  few  coppers  into  the  boat  and,  leaning  on 
his  umbrella,  watched  her  cross  the  river,  his  eyes 
dancing  as  they  followed  her  lithe  body  swaying  in 
rhythmic  motion  to  the  movement  of  the  great 
oar.  Finally,  when  she  was  lost  to  sight  among 
the  other  craft,  he  turned  to  the  Breton,  shaking 
his  head  solemnly. 

"Ah  me,"   he  sighed.  "I   was  just  in  time; 

another   day — who  knows — it  might   have   been 

too  late.     .    .     .    It  is  going  to  be  contentious.  I 

see  it,  I  hear  it,  I  know  it;  but  let  it  come,  I  will 

[92] 


A  DRAGON  AND  THE  GROTTO 

out-Solomon  Solomon  with  the  keen  edge  of  my 
diplomacy,  and  mark  you,  the  infant  of  my  desire 
will  not  be  severed." 

For  some  moments  the  Reverend  Tobias  Hook 
balanced  himself,  now  on  his  heels,  now  on  his 
toes. 

"  My  young  friend,"  he  resumed  with  impressive 
solemnity,  "  reverence  diplomacy  primarily  and 
late,  for  it  is  the  right  healing  hand  of  our  Maker. 
It  alone  diagnoses  the  depths  and  shallows  of 
diseased  contentions.  With  subtle  pills  it  ruddies  up 
a  pale  hope,  or  judiciously  phialing  out  poppied 
words  it  bats  the  eye  of  envy.  And  when  the  dis- 
temper of  ambition  rolls  up  the  pulse  of  those 
around  you  lay  on  the  gentle  fingers  of  diplomacy, 
pucker  up  the  wise  silent  lips,  and  blinking,  fashion 
out  a  cure.  If,  in  due  time,  you  should  fall,  as 
men  have  fallen  from  Adam  down,  into  the  fever 
and  ague  of  marriage,  you  will  need  for  your  own 
health's  sake  this  physician's  calming  dosage. 

"  Marriage,  marriage,"  he  soliloquised  bitterly, 
jamming  the  point  of  his  umbrella  viciously  into 
the  planks,  "  that,  my  young  friend,  is  the  act  that 
strips  us  and  leaves  us  naked  of  hope.  Why  did 
I  marry?  A  question.  Was  I  lonely?  No.  I  was 
wallowing  in  youth.  Was  it  greed?  No,  for  it  has 
further  impoverished  my  poverty.  Was  it  ambi- 
tion? No,  I  tempt  not  what  caused  the  fall  of 
angels.  Was  it  love  ?  There  is  no  need  to  ask  that 
[93] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
question.  Nor  is  there  any  use  to  take  the  whole 
inventory  of  my  mind.  I  did  it — that  is  all. 

"  This  thing  and  theory  of  the  one  woman,  my 
young  friend,  is  like  a  nettle  found  in  the  White 
Cloud  Hills;  it  tickles  sensationally  at  first,  then 
leaves  a  rash  burning  the  rest  of  life.  In  this  net- 
tle simile  lies  the  substance  of  my  whole  contention. 
At  the  moment  of  discovery  our  vision  is  distorted 
so  that  we  discern  in  this  very  nettle  a  rose,  a  lily, 
or  what  not  so  that  it  is  pleasing  to  our  fancy.  We 
pluck,  we  pop  the  other  eye,  and  before  we  know 
we  begin  to  scratch. 

"  Moreover,  in  this  rose  and  lily  metaphor  lies 
argument  for  another  drift  to  the  point  we  are 
getting  at.  We  grant  the  one  woman  to  be  the 
perfect  rose  or  lily;  man  ambling  through  the 
garden  of  womankind  spies  this  choicest  flower  and 
plucks  it — which  is  marriage — then  for  his 
temerity  wanders  the  rest  of  life  through  this  end- 
less blooming  garden  with  an  herb  whose  hues  are 
soon  no  hues,  whose  perfume  has  become  an  odour, 
and  its  sweets  so  galled  that  the  very  bees  forsake 
it  and  hornets  extract  substance  from  it  for  their 
stings.  Furthermore,  my  young  friend,  in  your 
feeble  youth,  unstrengthened  by  the  vicissitudes  of 
matrimony,  nor  toiled,  nor  calloused  by  it,  I  warn 
you  that  the  sweetness  of  one  rose  is  soon  blown. 
No  cook  can  concoct  a  meal  out  of  one  dish,  nor 
prayers  nor  Aladdins  make  one  meal  fill  out  the 
[94] 


A  DRAGON  AND  THE  GROTTO 
course  of  life.  It  is  variety  and  abundance  that 
peppers  and  adorns  the  monotony  of  this  rutted 
earth.  Ah,  if  our  discretion  would  only  come  in 
youth  and  our  follies  in  old  age!  What  happiness! 
We  would  die  from  a  surfeit  of  it." 

The  Reverend  Hook  stepped  closer  to  the 
Breton  and  laid  his  hand  consolingly  on  his 
shoulder. 

"  My  young  friend,  I  have  watched  you  for 
many  weeks  standing  at  dusk  on  this  bund  and 
holding  dialogue  with  empty  space,  and  I  con- 
ceived the  thoughts  I  have  given  birth  to — that 
there  is  a  woman  in  it,  for  nothing  but  female 
imaginings  can  make  a  man  a  companion  to 
shadows  and  vapours,  squeezing  music  out  of 
noise  and  plastering  the  air  thick  with  visions. 

"  Now  mark  me,  I  do  not  complain  of  lather- 
ing in  this  fragrant  soap  that  so  cleanses  our 
minds  of  sorrow,  but  let  lather  be  lather;  tem- 
porarily it  laves  us  in  joy  but  in  the  One  love — no ! 
no!  with  it  comes  only  moody  agitations  of  the 
heart.  You  try  to  crib  on  nature  and  deceive  your- 
self into  believing  that  the  lily  cannot  lose  its 
whiteness,  nor  the  rose  its  perfume.  Ah,  my 
young  dreamer,  if  you  had  Mrs.  Hook  for  one 
week — that  is  all! 

"  But  let  us  be  cheerful,  retrospect  your  thoughts 
back  to  that  little  dimpled  darling  in  blue  pant- 
lets!  Could  anything  be  finer?  She  is  curried  to 
[95] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
my  taste,  sir,  and  when  chutneyed  with  a  little 
strife — what  a  morsel !  What  a  dish  !     ...    If 
I  can  clasp  her  once,  just  once,  mark  you,  she  will 
wail  for  the  love  of  me." 

The  Reverend  Tobias  Hook  became  meditative 
at  this  pleasing  thought.  He  folded  his  hands  on 
the  head  of  his  umbrella  and  gazed  abstractedly 
down  into  the  sombre  flowing  waters  that  the 
Chinese  call  the  Pearl  River;  not,  however,  because 
pearls  are  found  in  its  silty  bed,  but  pearls  are 
euphemistic  of  tears.  This  is  the  River  of  Tears, 
dark  in  sunlight,  melancholy  and  sullen  at  dusk, 
and  at  midnight  a  dark  flood  that  mourns.  There 
is  an  immense  terribleness  about  it  and  its  sorrow; 
robbing,  feeding,  contemplating,  nursing,  and  in 
due  time  devouring  the  innumerable  millions  it 
has  reared.  The  giving  of  man  to  this  River  of  his 
tears  and  his  dead  has  been  without  end,  as  long  as 
they  have  dwelt  on  its  banks  it  has  been  so,  yet 
they  conceal  this  fact  from  themselves  by  calling 
its  dark  flood  the  River  of  Pearls,  by  giving  gods 
to  its  depths;  to  its  banks,  temples  and  pagodas. 

Suddenly  the  Reverend  Tobias  Hook  was 
aroused  from  his  sweet  musings  by  the  falling  of 
dusk. 

"I  must  hasten!"  he  exclaimed  abruptly;  "to- 
morrow I  will  come  back.  I  want  to  talk  to  you 
about  the  Treasure  hidden  in  the  Grotto  of  the 
Sleepless  Dragon,  and  that,  sir,  is  worth  dream- 
[96] 


A   DRAGON   AND   THE    GROTTO 

ing  about.  But  I  cannot  stay."  He  shook  his  head 
dolefully  and  looked  furtively  over  his  shoulder. 
"  Mrs.  Hook  is  at  the  Willow  Gate  this  very 
moment  watching  for  me,  and  when  she  sees  my 
rolling,  sensuous  gait,  my  pouted  under  lip  and 
high-distempered  cheek  she  will  cluck,  sir,  she  will 
cluck  with  rage." 


[97] 


CHAPTER    FIVE 
THE   MONSOON 

DO   you   know   what   is   the   matter   with 
you?"   demanded  the  Unknown   gruffly 
as  he  stopped  the  Breton  hastening  out 
of  the  Mission  Gate. 

The  priest  looked  up. 

"  You  are  happy,"  the  Unknown  grumbled. 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"  I  think  it  is  from  God." 

While  the  Breton  did  not  perceive  it,  the  wife 
had  in  a  way  become  less  wilful,  though  her  moods 
were  yet  as  the  river's  wind ;  her  words  as  change- 
ful as  the  mocking-bird's  song;  her  impetuosity 
as  uncertain  as  those  strange  storms  that  come 
down  through  the  gorges  of  Kai  Fong.  One  mo- 
ment sweetly  naive  as  a  child,  the  next  abrupt  and 
full  of  cold  scorn ;  she  still  chided,  still  coaxed  and 
scolded,  though  sometimes  her  words  caressed. 
She  questioned  and  derided  as  in  the  past,  and  still 
brought  doubt  into  his  sensitive  eyes  only  to  laugh 
it  away. 

[98] 


THE    MONSOON 

The  fact  is,  however,  that  in  the  rapid  rush  of 
time,  the  wife  laughed  less,  and  in  no  such  man- 
ner as  she  did  during  the  first  weeks  of  his  tutor- 
ship; then  it  was  part  of  her  always,  and  he  heard 
it  even  in  her  most  impatient  moments.  She  wel- 
comed him  with  it;  mocked  and  scorned  with  its 
music,  and  when  he  departed  its  petulant  echoes 
ceased  at  no  time  in  his  heart. 

So  as  months  passed  and  the  eyes  of  the  Breton 
lost  their  melancholy  shadows,  there  crept  imper- 
ceptibly into  the  wife's  laughter  a  softened,  doubt- 
ful tingle.  It  was  as  though  the  sadness,  which 
went  out  from  his  eyes,  was  finding  its  way  into 
her  laugh. 

"Will  you  never  finish  that  book?"  she  com- 
plained. 

"  You  do  not  like  it?  "  He  looked  up  hastily,  a 
shadow  in  his  eyes. 

"  No!  "  she  answered  sharply. 

"  I  have  two  other  books,"  he  suggested,  not 
turning  his  eyes  away  from  the  crevices. 

"  No !  "  she  cried  impatiently,  "  not  another 
book!" 

"What  shall  I  teach  you?"  he  asked  softly. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  mused  vaguely;  "  but  it's 
something !  something !  " 

"  And  you  do  not  know  ?  "  His  eyes  became  sud- 
denly bright. 

"  No." 

[99] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Then  it  is  from  God." 

"  Please  don't  pray,"  she  pleaded. 

11  You  do  not " 

"  I  know — but  it  is  so  tiresome,"  she  interrupted 
plaintively.  "  Priest,"  she  whispered. 

He  looked  up. 

"  I  know,  I  know,"  her  whisper  was  con- 
strained. "  Do  you?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  wish  to?" 

He  could  scarcely  hear  and  did  not  at  all  under- 
.stand,  so  he  made  no  answer  and  the  questioning 
in  his  eyes  did  not  change. 

"  Rest  your  ear  here,"  she  whispered,  putting 
her  little  finger  through  the  crevice. 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  in  the  manner  of 
a  boy  pressed  his  ear  tightly  to  the  crevice.  For  a 
moment  there  was  perfect  stillness,  then  a  hurried, 
alarmed  fluttering  of  silk. 

Presently  far  from  the  screen  he  heard  the  wife 
strike  her  hands  softly,  nervously  together. 

"  You  must  go,"  she  cried,  her  voice  trembling. 
"  Please  don't  stand  there." 

But  before  the  Breton  left  that  afternoon  the 
dusk  of  a  monsoon  storm  had  darkened  the  rooms 
and  as  he  passed  through  the  park  masses  of  clouds 
as  black  as  the  night-sea  rushed  along  across  the 
sky  like  enormous  billows  frothed  with  a  grey 
foam.  The  narrow  streets  were  filled  with  hurry- 
[100] 


THE   MONSOON 

ing  men;  shopkeepers  were  putting  up  shutters, 
and  barring  doors;  hucksters  ceased  their  cries; 
itinerent  barbers,  money-changers,  and  fortune- 
tellers were  hastily,  silently  departing.  Sentries 
left  their  posts;  mothers  screamed  after  wayward 
brats;  beggars  sought  the  shelter  of  temples,  and 
the  chant  of  the  blind  was  still. 

The  Breton,  instead  of  returning  to  the  Mis- 
sion, went  as  swiftly  as  possible  through  the  tor- 
tuous streets  to  the  East  Gate,  thence  made  his 
way  toward  their  outer  edge,  where  a  small 
Catholic  community  lived,  almost  buried  under  the 
tumbled  side  of  this  vast,  old  brick-heap — a  plas- 
tered chip  from  the  Rock  of  St.  Peter. 

The  streets  were  now  deserted.  Here  and  there 
people  stood  in  their  doorways  and  watched  him 
pass.  Fowls  hovered  by  threshold  and  children, 
still  devilish,  scurried  hither  and  thither — storm- 
tempters  and  scorners. 

When  the  Breton  reached  the  edge  of  the 
suburbs  he  turned  southward  and  hastened  along 
the  embankment  of  an  old  canal;  to  the  right 
was  the  city;  on  his  left  the  fields,  and  beyond 
darkness. 

There  came  the  rumble-boom  of  distant  thunder. 

It  was  twilight. 

No  one  could  be  seen;  no  sounds  were  heard. 
Upon  the  earth  rested  that  vasty  stillness  which 
belongs  to  dusk  when  dusk  is  the  forepart  of  a 
[101] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
storm.  Night  birds,  day  beasts,  men,  insects,  all 
were  sheltered.  It  was  night. 

The  Breton  hastened  on. 

As  he  drew  near  to  the  Catholic  community,  a 
flame  of  lightning  burst  out  of  the  blackness;  a 
terrific  thunder-crash  followed;  then  again  im- 
penetrable gloom  was  around  him.  But  that  flash, 
as  though  it  were  the  torch  of  God  thrust  out  of 
heaven,  illumed  for  one  brief  second  a  dismal 
scene. 

Before  him  on  the  bank  of  the  old  canal  stood 
a  man  with  head  bowed  upon  his  bosom,  his  hands 
hanging  loosely  to  his  side  while  the  wild  night- 
wind  whipped  thin  garments  about  his  body.  At 
the  man's  feet  cowered  a  woman  holding  a  baby 
to  her  breast,  and,  crouching  over  it,  sought  to 
ward  off  the  storm.  Two  small  children  clung  to 
his  legs.  This  group  did  not  speak,  nor  move,  nor 
sob. 

The  Breton  approached  them. 

"Why  are  you  out  in  this  storm?"  he  asked 
gently. 

"  It  welcomes  us,"  the  man  growled  carelessly. 

"  Where  is  your  house?  " 

11  It  is  here." 

"Your  beds?" 

"We  do  not  sleep." 

"Your  food?" 

"  We  do  not  eat." 

[102] 


THE    MONSOON 

"Who  sent  you  here?" 

"  Fate." 

"  It  cannot  protect  you." 

"Who  can  protect  whom  Fate  deserts?" 

"  But  the  storm " 

"  Bah !  the  storm  will  come  and  go  with  its  good 
and  ruin.  Fate  remains  unaltered." 

"  Let  me  shelter  you." 

"Where?" 

"  I  am  a  Christian  and  near  are  my  friends." 

"  You  are  my  enemy,"  the  man  replied  with 
the  same  nonchalance. 

"Your  enemy?" 

"  Leave  us." 

"  I  cannot." 

"  You  wish  the  eyes  of  my  children?  " 

"  I  wish  to  help  you." 

"You  do?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Kill  us." 

"Will  you  not  go?" 

"Owls  consort  with  owls;  finches  with  finches." 

"  My  wish  is  to  help  you." 

"  To-day  you  took  away  my  house  and  gave  it 
to  Chun  Ping,  who  is  a  Christian,  a  river-pirate, 
a  buyer  and  seller  of  stolen  goods.  You  know  this, 
the  mandarins  know  this,  but  you  work  together, 
you  do  these  villainies  together — weak  govern- 
ments and  powerful  gods  sleep  in  the  same  bed. 
[103] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  How  many  years  have  I  sweated  that  I  might 
have  that  little  house?  What  man  can  say  I  am 
not  honest  ?  That  I  did  not  give  alms  to  the  blind 
and  cash  to  the  gods  in  the  Temple?  Did  I  not 
intend  to  save  money  that  my  sons  could  study  and 
take  the  Examinations?  Now — it  is  all  gone. 
"  "Chun  Ping  wanted  my  house;  he  went  with 
your  priests  and  said  it  was  his.  The  priests  said 
it  was  his  house.  I  went  to  the  Yamen  and  showed 
them  my  red  deed  and  white  deed.  They  said, 
*  It  is  your  house;  give  us  money  and  we  will  pro- 
tect you.'  I  gave  them  all  my  money.  They  gave 
my  house  to  Chun  Ping.  They  said,  *  We  dare 
not  offend  these  Christians;  they  have  gunboats  in 
the  river.  Go  away.'  To-night  your  priests  came 
and  put  me  out." 

The  Breton  made  no  answer. 

When  the'  lightning  flashed  again  it  showed 
two  men  standing  silently  over  the  woman  and 
children. 

The  black  breakers  of  the  storm-sea  overhead 
began  to  fall  amid  the  crash  and  boom  of 
thunder. 

The  children  were  terror-stricken;  the  mother 
sobbed  and  cooed.  The  priest  stared  out  into  the 
night  toward  the  Catholic  community. 

The   storm   grew   worse    and   the   still   group 
bowed  under  it.  The  teeth  of  the  little  children 
chattered,  but  they  did  not  cry  nor  speak.  The 
[104] 


THE   MONSOON 

mother  had  ceased  her  sobs  and  no  longer  cooed 
to  her  baby. 

"  We  must  go !  "  said  the  Breton,  and  he  took 
up  one  of  the  children ;  the  man  picked  up  the  other 
and  a  cage  in  which  fluttered  a  bedraggled  bird. 
They  started  off  and  the  mother  with  her  baby 
hugged  tightly  to  her  breast,  followed. 

The  Breton,  leading  the  way,  went  up  to  the 
door  of  a  house  and  knocked. 

No  answer. 

He  went  to  another. 

"  Who  knocks?  "  demanded  a  man  from  within. 

"  We  are  caught  in  the  storm." 

"Who  are  you?" 

The  priest  turned  to  the  man  behind  him. 

"  Tsang." 

"  It  is  the  family  of  Tsang." 

There  came  no  response.  He  knocked  on  the 
door  again,  but  it  was  useless.  So  they  went  on, 
in  the  reek  of  rain  and  wind-blasts,  from  house  to 
house. 

Suddenly  the  man  Tsang  stopped.  He  beat 
violently  on  a  door. 

"What  do  you  want?"  growled  a  rough  voice 
from  within. 

"My  house!" 

"Who  are  you?" 

"  I  am  Tsang." 

"  You  are  a  rat." 

[105] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  I  am  an  honest  man.  Give  me  my  house." 

"  Give  me  your  wife.  I  am  cold." 

"  Christian !  " 

:t  The  eyes  of  your  brats  are  worth  two  taels. 
Their  spleen  is  useless." 

"  I  will  raise  a  mob  and  destroy  you." 

"  The  Christian  gunboats  in  the  river  will  tear 
you  into  rags." 

"  You  have  destroyed  your  ancestral  tab- 
lets." 

"  I  cooked  to-night's  rice  with  yours." 

"  You  may  deceive  men,  but  you  cannot  close 
the  eye  of  Fate.  You  will  yet  be  cut  into  a  thou- 
sand pieces." 

"Bah!  The  Law  is  a  rusty  knife,  my  Church 
is  a  new  cannon.  They  dare  not  question  me." 

"  By  the  Temple  of  the  One  God,  you  have  a 
shop  to  receive  stolen  goods." 

"  I  am  a  Christian." 

"  You  stole  the  jade-tablets  from  the  Ancestral 
Hall  of  Ho." 

41 1  am  a  Christian." 

"  You  were  aboard  the  pirate  junk  that  killed 
thirty  people  near  the  Lob  pagoda  on  the  fifth  day 
of  the  last  moon." 

"  I  am  a  Christian." 

"  You  stole  the  daughter  of  the  Widow  Chin 
and  sold  her  to  a  whoremonger." 

"  You  had  none  old  enough." 
[106] 


THE   MONSOON 

"  You  cannot  escape.  Fate  will  overtake  you 
though  the  Yamen  runners  fail." 

The  priest  took  the  man's  arm  and  dragged  him 
away. 

They  trudged  on,  whither?  This  thought  did 
not  occur  to  any  of  them.  They  now  forgot  the 
wind  and  the  waters  that  flowed  underfoot.  To 
the  man  Tsang  this  raging  of  the  elements  seemed 
a  natural  portion  of  his  ruin.  He  became  part  of 
this  environment  of  wrath  and  was  contented  in 
it.  The  storm  was  companionable.  This  tempest 
and  the  man  held  converse,  which  was  friendly. 

The  Breton  led  the  way  while  the  mother 
trudged  on  behind.  This  woman  hardly  knew  that 
she  was  turned  out  of  doors  and  was  wandering 
about  in  the  night  through  a  wreck  of  waters. 
What  did  she  care  for  these  rending  winds;  this 
night  vomit  of  heaven;  these  red  forks  of  fire  or 
blare  of  thunder? 

Her  babe  suckled. 

So  they  went  on  in  single  file  until  suddenly  the 
little  boy  on  the  Breton's  shoulder  began  to  cry, 
which  was  next  best  to  the  stopping  of  the  storm. 

The  Breton  turned  to  the  man. 

"  Where  can  we  find  shelter  for  your  wife  and 
babies?" 

"  In  to-morrow." 

"But  to-night?"    . 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  river." 
[107] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"Why?" 

"  We  can  drown." 

"  When  men  fear  death  less  than  poverty, 
should  they  not  be  held  in  contempt?  " 

"  It  is  true." 

"  We  must  find  protection." 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  Mission." 

"  You  hate  Christians." 

"I  despise  them!" 

"We  cannot." 

"Then  let  us  go  to  the  Temple  of  the  Five 
Gods.  It  stands  to  reason  that  five  gods  have 
more  compassion  than  one." 

The  man  now  led  the  way.  The  woman  still  fol- 
lowed, falling  behind  like  a  tired  dog,  and  like 
a  dog  she  made  no  complaint.  Often  they  stopped 
and,  halting,  waited  for  her;  when  she  caught  up, 
this  mother  would  give  a  long  whistling  sigh  and 
sink  down  in  the  mud. 

"  Come,"  said  the  man,  "  we  must  hasten  or 
the  Temple  will  be  overcrowded." 

"With  whom?"  asked  the  Breton. 

"  With  rags  and  lice." 

"What?" 

"  Yes,  the  temples  in  the  Middle  Kingdom  are 
now  only  the  refuge  of  beggars — as  in  your  coun- 
try they  are  filled  with  plotters." 

"Are  there  no  robbers?"  asked  the  mother 
feebly. 

[108] 


THE    MONSOON 

"  No,"  he  replied  consolingly.  "  Fate  is  im- 
partial— our  temples  have  only  vermin;  the  beasts 
were  reserved  for  this  priest's  Church." 

Presently  they  reached  the  outer  gates  of  the 
Temple  of  the  Five  Gods;  it  was  ajar.  They 
crossed  the  court,  where  the  water  reached  high 
above  their  ankles,  and  ascending  the  granite  steps 
hesitated  on  the  threshold.  They  lingered,  un- 
certain before  the  huge  doorway,  which  looked 
like  the  entrance  to  some  abyss,  then  the  Breton 
stepped  in,  closely  followed  by  the  man  and  the 
woman. 

The  lightning's  glare  lit  up  dimly,  momentarily, 
the  temple's  vast  hall,  where  dark  heaps  of 
shadowy  forms  were  huddled  along  the  sides.  At 
times  these  heaps  shuddered,  and  from  out  of  the 
depths  of  them  came  groans. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  temple's  hall,  on  a 
huge  ebon  altar,  were  the  images  of  the  Five 
Gods.  And  when  the  red  flare  of  lightning  in- 
flamed their  terrible  eyes,  these  gods  looked 
down  upon  the  sprawling  wreck  of  man  and 
grinned. 

Toward  these  monsters  the  Breton  made  his 
way,  followed  by  the  man  Tsang  and  the  mother. 
Close  by  the  altar  they  found  a  vacant  spot  where 
they  crouched,  while  the  wind  that  came  through 
the  great  entrance  blew  full  upon  them.  The 
child  in  the  Breton's  arms  shook  with  cold,  and 
[109] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
taking  off  his  robe,  he  wrapped  it  about  the  little 
thing. 

The  mother  cooed  and  talked  to  her  baby. 

Presently  they  all  nodded  and  slept — except  the 
Breton  and  the  Five  Gods  above  him.  The  child's 
chubby  face  rested  softly,  securely  against  his 
neck,  and  that  indefinable  murmur  of  its  sleep  gave 
him  a  strange  thrill  of  comfort.  In  the  slum- 
ber breathing  of  a  child,  as  in  the  breath  of  soli- 
tudes, are  awakened  memories  and  thoughts,  which 
altogether  might  be  called  the  symphony  of  revery. 
And  the  Breton  heard  in  the  child's  sleeping  sighs 
a  voice,  which  vanquished  the  blackness  of  the 
night. 

Without  this  refuge  of  the  forsaken  pounded 
the  deafening  churn  of  wind  and  rain  and  thunder. 
But  the  priest,  crouching  in  front  of  the  altar, 
listening  to  the  echo  of  another  voice,  heard 
nothing.  The  gods  looked  down  upon  him  and — 
smiled. 


[no] 


CHAPTER   SIX 
A  GIFT 

THE  monsoon,  with  its  wrack  and  pain, 
passed  away  much  in  the  manner  as  the 
man  Tsang  said  it  would;  for  the  mon- 
soon repletes  more  than  it  destroys,  and  the  prayer 
that  goes  up  for  it  is  a  great  prayer. 

"  I  was  alone  to  suffer,"  commented  the  outcast 
complacently,  "  but  in  the  vomit  of  the  monsoon 
Fate  relented  and  the  priest  came." 

Just  outside  of  the  Bamboo  Gate  in  the  easterly 
part  of  the  southern  suburbs,  close  to  where  the 
alley  of  the  Old  Dog  opens  kennel-like  into  the 
Street  of  Ivoryworkers,  the  Breton  provided  a 
home  for  Tsang's  family,  and  thither  the  street 
currents  drifted  him  more  often  than  he  knew. 
The  little  Tsangs  toddled  out  to  meet  him,  climbed 
upon  him,  smeared  his  robe  with  rice  and  kale, 
kissed  him,  prodded  his  blue  eyes,  and  cried  when 
he  went  away.  The  man  Tsang  revered  him  and 
cautioned  his  neighbours  that  Fate  had  peculiarly 
redeemed  this  one  priest  out  of  the  whole  utterly 
damned  tribe  of  them  all. 

"  Why  is  it?  "  demanded  one  of  his  neighbours, 
[in] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
"  How  do  I  know  I "  answered  Tsang  indig- 
nantly. "  Such  things  belong  to  Fate,  and,  neigh- 
bours, don't  woman  Fate,  don't  spy,  don't  peep !  " 
While  the  Breton  went  every  few  days  to 
Tsang's  hole  in  the  Kennel  of  the  Old  Dog,  yet 
he  came  always  by  evening  to  the  bund  where  a 
certain  murmur  rising  from  the  river  softened  the 
grind  and  crunch  of  the  city's  toil.  Some  days,  as 
on  this  day,  which  was  the  fourth  of  the  fifth  moon 
— other  noises  in  addition  to  its  murmurs  came 
from  it  and  the  rasped,  bruised  milling  of  man 
was  completely  drowned  in  them.  On  this  day 
the  river  revelled  in  the  gaiety  of  those  whom  it 
fed,  and  all  the  careless  joy,  the  wine,  the  froth, 
and  ribbons  of  Yingching  laughed  there.  Wher- 
ever the  eye  could  reach  were  seen  the  tatters  and 
tinsels  of  ten  myriads  silks  swishing  and  fluttering 
in  the  river  wind.  The  buildings  along  the  bund 
pulled  over  their  time-pocked  and  shrivelled  forms 
robes  of  satin.  Sea-going  junks  hovered  above  the 
river  like  gigantic  butterflies,  their  great  ribbed 
sails  turned  into  gorgeous,  trembling  wings  of 
silk.  The  flower-boats  along  the  southern  bank 
were  voluptuous  in  silken  wraps;  their  eaves  ear- 
ringed  with  lanterns,  while  on  their  flower-clus- 
tered balconies  crowded  dainty  pouting  creatures, 
their  music  and  laughter  mingling  with  the  joy  of 
the  day.  Among  these  winged  junks  and  flower- 
boats  darted  slender  slipper  craft  like  gay-breasted 
[112] 


A   GIFT 

swallows,    twittering,   perking,    and   quivering   in 
mid-currents. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  gaiety  of  this  sombre 
river  during  the  Festival  of  the  Dragon  boats; 
and  when  the  Breton  came  to  the  bund  on  this  day 
— which  in  Western  chronology  conies  in  June — 
he  found  it  in  a  gay  swelter  of  excitement.  On  this 
day  were  the  races  of  the  Dragon  boats;  and  the 
cleared  course,  which  extended  from  the  west  side 
of  Pakngotam's  black  pool  to  the  Island  of  the 
Sea-Pearl,  was  lined  with  boat-loads  of  gesticulat- 
ing spectators,  howling  and  chattering  as  the 
Dragon  craft  rushed  up  and  down  stream,  pro- 
pelled by  naked,  sweating  demons  and  urged  on 
with  cries,  gongs,  and  flags. 

But  these  unaccustomed  pleasure  sounds,  eman- 
ating from  a  river  that  of  itself  mourned  and  was 
sombre,  were  lost  upon  the  Breton  as  he  stood 
over  the  bund's  edge  dreaming,  listening  alone  to 
the  murmur  underfoot.  The  rattle  of  hucksters, 
the  scoldings  and  screechings  of  old  boat-women, 
the  men's  voices  nonchalantly  cursing  or  chant- 
ing in  falsetto  tones  the  theatricals  of  the  river, 
the  splash  of  oars,  burst  of  crackers,  cries  of  chil- 
dren in  their  sports,  the  shrill  songs  of  slipper 
boat-girls,  the  howl  and  clangour  of  the  Dragon 
boats  and  the  dull  pandemonium  that  rose  from 
the  goals  did  not  cause  him  to  raise  his  head  nor 
turn  away  from  the  yellow  waters.  It  mattered 
[113] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
in  no  way  to  him  that  the  loom  of  life,  always 
dully  clangorous  about  this  bund,  wove  upon  this 
day  a  few  bright  strands  through  its  warp  of 
gloom.  He  did  not  look  up  nor  make  note  of  it, 
for  he  was  no  longer  of  its  woof  nor  its  warp  nor 
the  ravelled  ends  that  fell  by  the  loom. 

Within  the  quiet  places  of  the  Breton's  love  the 
world  nor  its  noises  could  not  penetrate.  Only  gen- 
tle thoughts  made  their  way  thither,  invoking  feel- 
ings deeper  than  themselves;  thoughts  veiled  from 
the  world  and  such  that  even  he  must  fall  into 
deep  communing  to  lift  apart  their  shadowy  screen. 
He  revelled  in  that  fair  region  where  there  are  no 
paths  nor  guideposts — the  wilderness  of  medita- 
tion. With  unuplifted  eyes  he  paced  on  through 
groves  where  none  had  gone  before  him  nor  shall 
follow.  Love  danced  ahead  of  him,  thought  am- 
bled after.  Now  he  stopped  to  listen  to  music; 
now  to  laughter  that  was  more  than  music,  now  to 
chidings  that  were  a  little  of  both.  Sometimes  he 
lingered  over  a  slumbering,  sensuous  rustle  that 
drew  down  from  heaven  the  inspiration  of  a 
dream. 

So  the  Breton  cared  in  no  manner  what  the  world 
might  do  around  him,  whether  it  toiled  along — as 
it  did  ordinarily — on  all  fours,  or  rushed  wildly 
exuberant  into  the  morrow.  Whatever  it  might  be 
he  had  a  region  separate  from  it — a  region  where 
the  running  brooks  of  thought  had  no  end  of  bab- 


A   GIFT 

bling,  where  the  wind  scattered  its  stars  without 
number,  and  in  its  horizonless  heaven  the  fairy 
tumbled  clouds  were  imaged  and  tinctured  with 
the  iridescence  of  meditative  love. 

Thus  the  Breton  lingered  on  the  bund  until  dusk 
passed  into  night  to  scatter  the  noises  around;  then 
he  came  forth  from  the  region  of  his  dreams  with 
the  slight  semblance  of  a  smile  on  his  lips  and 
hastened  to  the  Mission. 

Often,  however,  he  was  awakened  from  midst  of 
these  dreams  and  ruthlessly  snatched  out  of  his 
heaven  by  no  less  a  personage  than  his  new  ac- 
quaintance the  Reverend  Tobias  Hook.  Fortu- 
nately or  otherwise,  as  it  may  prove  to  be — the 
Reverend  Hook  came  often  to  the  bund  when  the 
Breton  was  there.  It  was  too  evident  that  he  did 
not  come  solely  for  recreation,  or  to  breathe  in  that 
open  spot  the  river's  wind,  since  he  spent  his  time, 
either  in  extolling  the  charms  of  some  new  nymph 
he  had  discovered  in  the  river  or  in  the  wilderness 
of  Yingching  and  whose  conversion  he  was  about 
to  undertake  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Hook;  or  he  ex- 
patiated without  end  concerning  the  Grotto  of  the 
Sleepless  Dragon,  where  Yu  Ngao,  the  last  of  the 
Ming  Emperors,  sought  refuge  with  his  retinue 
and  imperial  treasure — to  be  seen  not  again  by 
mankind. 

At  first  the  Reverend  Hook  was  chilled  by  the 
dreamy  indifference  of  the  Breton,  and  it  was  only 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
after  he  had  found  that  silence  was  a  part  of  the 
priest's  nature  that  he  unloosed  his  endless  chain 
of  information  and  argument  concerning  these 
caverns  from  whose  mysterious  depths  no  man  has 
even  been  known  to  return.  The  gaining  of  this 
knowledge  had  been  one  of  his  chief  pursuits,  a 
task  he  had  found  delightful  with  expectation,  and 
he  believed  in  due  time  would  not  be  without  its 
rewards. 

From  every  source,  from  legends  and  histories, 
he  had  collected  information  concerning  these 
caves,  all  of  which  he  unfolded  as  he  coaxed  and 
argued,  tilting  himself  on  his  heels  and  toes  in  his 
pleadings  with  the  Breton  to  go  with  him  to  these 
Grottoes,  where  the  Great  Earth  Dragon  guards 
so  zealously  the  melancholy  secret  of  the  Emperor. 

The  Breton  listened  but  did  not  go,  nor  did  he 
even  make  reply. 

"And  why  not,  sir,  why  not?"  the  Reverend 
Tobias  Hook  would  demand  shrilly,  cocking  him- 
self on  his  toes. 

The  Breton  did  not  answer. 

Fate  was  yet  to  drive  him  thither. 

This  day  the  Reverend  Hook  came  later  than 
usual,  and  had  not  talked  with  the  Breton  long 
before  he  pulled  a  roll  of  papers  from  his  coat 
pocket  and  began  on  his  favourite  subject — the 
treasure  in  the  Dragon's  Grotto. 

"  Young  sir,"  he  continued  reprovingly,  "  you 
[116] 


A   GIFT 

must  undress  your  mind  of  any  thought  that  I 
burrow  for  personal  gain.  Disillusionate  your- 
self! I  scorn,  sir,  that  puffed  Huckster,  that  old 
dealer,  who  bundles  up  men's  honour  and  upon  the 
open  market  of  the  world  traffics  in  their  virtue. 
I  am  an  antiquarian,  sir,  a  subterreaneous  hunter. 

"  Of  course,"  he  added  in  a  modified  tone,  "  it 
would  be  but  right  for  me  to  adorn  my  sideboard 
with  a  few  platters  and  pitchers  of  gold,  a  few  jade 
vases  and  urns  for  my  parlour;  a  reserve  of  pearls 
and  emeralds  to  cool  the  hot  distemper  of  my  wife, 
— which,  my  young  friend,  cannot  be  too  few, — 
for  she  falls  into  the  most  parboiled  ecstatics  not 
less  than  once  a  day.  Sometimes  in  the  very  mid- 
dle of  the  night  a  sudden  thought  pierces  her  in 
a  tender  spot  and  out  she  bounces;  before  I  can 
disengage  my  eyelids  from  heavy  sleep  she  has  me 
stalled  on  the  floor,  rides  me  with  her  knees,  and 
plays  horse  with  my  beard. 

"  Now,  sir,  you  see  the  nakedness  of  my  plans; 
if  I  can  get  hold  of  the  jewels  of  Yu  Ngao,  I  will 
be  able  to  ransom  myself  from  these  frolics.  Ah! 
if  I  can  but  coax  her  into  skirts  again  I  will  flounce 
them  with  emeralds,  and  every  time  she  weeps  I 
will  match  each  dewy  tear  with  ten  big  pearls. 

"  No,  no,  my  young  friend,  do  not  berate  wealth, 
for  though  in  youth  it  is  a  mill  that  grinds  out 
follies,  when  youth  is  done  it  mills  the  rarest 
comforts. 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  These  papers,"  and  the  Reverend  Hook  un- 
rolled the  papers  he  had  been  holding,  "  are  maps 
and  other  information  concerning  the  Grottos. 
This  is  the  triple  labour  of  years.  I  have  screwed 
it  out  of  legends  and  pulled  it  out  of  the  deepest 
records. 

"  This  map,"  and  he  handed  one  of  the  sheets 
to  the  Breton,  "  is  the  route  to  the  Grottos  from 
Yingching.  A  scrutiny  of  this  one,  on  the  other 
hand,  shows  it  to  be  a  map  of  the  path  leading  from 
the  river  to  the  true  cavern  under  the  falls.  These 
other  manuscripts  are  historical  proofs;  they  defy 
refutation,  and  no  man's  eyes  but  yours  have  or 
ever  will  discover  them. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  treasure  of  the  whole  Ming 
dynasty  is  there,  hoarded  in  the  earth's  dark  cel- 
lars and  misered  there  these  hundreds  of  years  by 
unchristian  superstitions.  Do  you  know  that  if  all 
the  Chinese  in  this  country  were  hunting  you  in 
maddest  frenzy  you  would  be  safe  from  them  in 
the  Grotto  of  the  Sleepless  Dragon?  They  won't 
go  near  it.  But  we,  unburdened  by  such  super- 
stitions, can  filch  these  jewels  from  the  Old 
Dragon  with  impunity,  with  gaiety. 

"  Ah !  what  a  treasure !  Cry  havoc,  my  young 
friend,  to  reservation,  and  let  your  mind's  eye 
romp  through  these  dim-eyed  caverns,  where  in 
great  heaps  lie  the  garniture  of  Empires.  Plates 
of  gold  enough  to  feed  two  thousand  three 
[118] 


A   GIFT 

hundred  and  eight  of  royal  blood,  cups  and  bowls 
to  match;  pitchers  and  little  saucers  as  numerous 
as  the  golden  plaques  that  lay  on  the  sky  at 
night.  Shields,  swords,  cuirasses  studded  with 
jewels.  Priceless  urns  of  jade,  slop  over,  sir,  with 
brimming  measures  of  pearls;  there  are  rubies  that 
by  comparison  would  jaundice  the  reddest  blood, 
while  emeralds  are  so  thickly  strewn  about  that 
they  lay  in  wrinkled  folds  like  moss-green  carpets. 

"  Disport  yourself  among  these  hillocks  of 
wealth  that  would  make  Croesus'  spirit  mundane 
with  envy.  Dine  from  golden  platters,  splash  in 
basins  of  silver,  play  hockey  with  emeralds,  shower 
the  gloom  with  handfuls  of  pearls,  and  with  the 
big  round  rubies  shoot  a  game  of  marbles " 

The  Reverend  Tobias  Hook  stopped  suddenly 
and  peered  through  the  gloom,  now  ebbing  im- 
perceptibly into  the  quietude  of  night.  The  Dragon 
boats  no  longer  scurried  over  the  water,  and  the 
dwellers  on  the  river  had  ceased  their  clamour. 
The  yellow  flood  was  becoming  darkly  sullen,  im- 
patient for  that  hour  when  man's  noisy  hum  would 
be  silent. 

For  some  time  the  Reverend  Tobias  Hook 
contemplated  seriously  the  darkening  of  these 
waters,  then  with  sudden  resolution  shoved  the 
papers  containing  the  maps  and  secrets  of  the 
Grotto  of  the  Sleepless  Dragon  into  the  hands  of 
the  Breton,  who  took  them  unconcernedly,  not  even 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  waters — now  an  abyss 
that  muttered. 

Soon  afterwards  the  Reverend  Hook  went  softly 
away,  and  in  uncertain  mind  disappeared  up  the 
Street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens. 

The  Breton  continued  gazing  down  into  the 
'depths  that  whispered  until  night  had  settled  about 
him,  then  he  put  into  his  bosom  the  little  man's 
terrible  gift. 


IE  I2°  ] 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 
DAWN 

THE  laugh  of  the  wife,  like  her  song,  had 
departed.  No  longer  it  pealed  through 
the  rooms — nor  its  echo.  Her  laugh  was 
gone;  slowly,  imperceptibly  had  it  vanished  as 
music  stolen  away  and  smothered  by  the  wind. 
But  neither  she  nor  the  Breton  knew  that  it  was 
no  more. 

The  wife  of  Tai  Lin  had  become  silent,  musing, 
seclusive.  She  no  longer  contradicted  her  hus- 
band, nor  laughed  at  him,  nor  mocked  nor  ca- 
ressed him. 

"  She  is  outgrowing  her  childhood,"  sighed  Tai 
Lin  to  himself. 

This  wife  of  his,  instead  of  sitting  on  a  stool  at 
his  feet  as  she  used  to  do,  would  remain  for  hours 
by  the  screen  when  she  thought  that  none  were 
about  her  but  the  thrushes  in  their  bamboo  cages 
overhead.  By  noon  or  by  night,  moved  by  sudden 
impulse,  she  would  creep  through  the  screen's 
wicket  into  the  outer  apartment  and,  nestling  in 
the  chair  that  stood  beside  it,  bury  her  face  in  her 
arms  and  cry  softly  to  herself  with  that  grief  that 
is  very  old. 

[121] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

But  she  was  not  alone  with  her  tears,  nor  with 
the  thrushes  complaining  overhead — she  was 
never  alone.  At  all  hours  a  maidservant  hovered 
about  her,  and  only  when  the  Breton  came  did 
this  servant  retire  behind  an  oval  doorway  that 
led  from  her  mistress'  room  to  an  open  court. 
There  she  concealed  herself  and  listened  to  the 
words  between  them ;  to  their  silences ;  to  the  going 
away  of  the  wife's  laughter  and  the  coming  of  her 
tears.  After  a  time  she  began  to  shake  her  head, 
perplexedly,  fatefully. 

One  day,  as  the  wife  sat  in  the  outer  apartment 
sobbing  to  herself,  this  maidservant  stole  up  to  her, 
and  kneeling  down  by  the  table,  asked  gently: 

"  Why  are  you  crying?  " 

The  wife  sobbed  but  made  no  reply. 

"Why  are  you  crying?"  asked  the  maid 
again. 

"Go  away,  Kim!  Go  away!"  she  cried  bro- 
kenly. "  You  cannot  understand — I  do  not  know  I 
Go  away — please  go  away !  " 

The  servant  left  her.  But  that  night  when  she 
came  to  the  bishop's  door  she  hesitated,  picked  the 
hem  of  her  garment;  turned  away;  came  back, 
then  knocked  ruefully  on  the  portal. 

When  the  Breton  came  to  the  wife's  apartments 
he  no  longer  stood  on  the  threshold  waiting  for 
her  salutation  or  expectant  of  her  laughter.  Cross- 
ing the  room,  naively  eager,  he  sat  down  in  his 
[122] 


DAWN 

chair  and,  looking  up  to  certain  crevices  in  the 
screen,  remained  silent  with  a  smile  in  his  eyes. 

Day  by  day  these  silences  grew  longer.  Without 
laughter,  without  converse,  almost  without  move- 
ment, each  sat  close  to  the  screen — so  close  that 
her  red  pouting  finger  tips  were  hardly  over  his 
head,  and  sometimes  through  the  crevices  just 
above  them  flashed  a  light,  dark  and  lustrous. 

In  this  manner  it  came  about  that  Silence  held 
them  more  and  more  beneath  its  velvet  hand, 
although  this  stillness  of  theirs  was  not  mute  nor 
somnolent.  At  intervals  it  was  broken  by  a  ques- 
tion, a  reprimand,  a  whisper;  a  word  that  caressed 
or  a  burst  of  scorn ;  only  laughter  came  not  again. 
Their  conversations  were  no  more  than  flashes;  an 
ignition,  an  illumination. 

Sometimes  the  Breton  would  look  up  as  if  about 
to  say  something  and  the  wife,  breathless,  would 
demand: 

"What?" 

He  never  spoke.  Yet  one  day  in  the  midst  of 
their  silence  he  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  crevice,  his 
lips  moved,  but  only  his  eyes  uttered. 

Hastily  the  wife  withdrew  her  fingers;  there  was 
a  flutter  of  silk ;  constrained  stillness. 

"  Oh,  well,"  she  commented,  turning  back  to 
the  screen,  "it  doesn't  matter;  if  a  man  can't  get 
ivory  from  a  rat's  mouth,  how  can  a  woman  ex- 
pect truth  from  a  man's?  " 
[123] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

He  turned  away  toward  the  windows. 

In  a  few  moments  her  fingers  were  again  thrust 
redly  through  the  crevices. 

"Are  you?"  she  whispered. 

The  Breton  looked  up. 

Again  there  was  silence. 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  is?  "  she  still  whispered. 

Once  more  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  crevices 
above  the  finger-tips. 

"  It  is  a  rain-drop,  priest,  iridescent — but  trem- 
bling on  the  eaves'  edge." 

While  these  silences  grew  longer,  they  at  the 
same  time  were  drawing  to  an  end.  No  stillness 
can  last  for  long  in  this  world  so  full  of  noises, 
and  in  time  a  second  but  greater  restlessness  lay 
hold  of  the  wife.  No  longer  petulant,  she  became 
irritable,  and  often  impatiently  moving  her  chair 
aside,  she  wandered  about  the  room.  And  as  time 
passed,  this  unrest  of  the  wife  increased  until  it 
came  about  that  she  could  not  sit  for  long  beside 
the  screen  without  getting  up  and  moving  uneasily, 
even  wearily,  about  the  room ;  now  by  a  table,  then 
back  to  the  screen ;  her  hands  at  one  moment  pluck- 
ing flowers  from  their  vases,  in  the  next  tossing 
the  folds  of  the  silken  tapestries. 

One  day  she  suddenly  drew  her  fingers  from  the 
crevices,  started  to  cross  the  room,  came  back,  and 
peremptorily  ordered  the  Breton  to  go  away  and 
stay  away. 

[124] 


DAWN 

"  Go !  "  she  commanded,  stamping  her  foot. 

The  Breton  looked  up  wonderingly  and  his  eyes 
smiled. 

Presently  he  heard  her  open  the  shell-latticed 
window,  then  all  was  still.  The  larks  and  thrushes 
from  their  swaying  bamboo  cages  fluttered  and 
chirped  questioningly.  For  there  are  silences  that 
make  birds  as  well  as  women  inquisitive.  They 
cocked  their  heads,  chirped,  and  looked  down  un- 
approvingly upon  the  priest. 

"  What !  I  thought  you  had  gone !  " 

The  Breton  turned  his  eyes  expectantly  to  the 
crevices  just  above  his  head. 

"  Are  you  not  going?  "  she  demanded  coldly. 

The  Breton  rose  from  his  chair,  uncertain,  but 
the  light  in  his  eyes  untroubled. 

"Sit  down!" 

The  stillness  that  followed  was  not  broken  until 
after  the  feathery  shadows  of  the  bamboo  had  crept 
across  the  translucent  shells  of  the  latticed  win- 
dows. Then  the  wife,  very  close  to  him,  whispered: 

"  Priest." 

The  Breton  did  not  move. 

"  Is  not  this  screen  a  nuisance  1  "  she  cried  irri- 
tably, and  her  voice  would  have  been  savage  had  it 
not  been  for  the  music  of  its  tones. 

The  Breton  neither  answered  nor  turned  his 
eyes  away. 

"Priest,  shall  I  come  out?" 
[125] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

He  still  looked  up  into  the  crevices. 

"Shall  I?" 

A  questioning  light  came  into  his  eyes. 

"Would  it  make  you  happy?"  she  whispered. 

The  light  deepened. 

"Well,  I  don't!"  she  exclaimed  scornfully. 
"At  its  best  it  is  nothing;  in  its  truth  it  is  false. 
Such  hopes  men  lay  to  gold  and  rubies  in  their 
mountain  caskets:  to  the  cloudy  pearl  in  the  jade 
depths  of  the  sea.  Sought;  found;  lost;  forgotten; 
its  gold,  cloud — gold  and  its  pearl  moon-mist! 
How  ridiculous !  " 

"  Would  you  truly  be  happy?  "  Again  her  voice 
was  without  its  impatience ;  again  it  trembled  with 
tenderness. 

A  light  in  the  eyes  of  the  Breton  answered. 

The  birds  fluttered  and  beat  their  wings  against 
the  bars  of  their  cages. 

Evening  was  approaching.  The  cawing  of  the 
white-headed  crows  could  now  be  heard  contend- 
ing for  their  roosts  in  the  banians. 

The  light  in  the  room  mellowed,  became  a  rose- 
saffron,  while  the  wind  of  sundown  blew  in  through 
an  open  window. 

Suddenly  the  wicket  in  the  screen  was  opened 
and  the  wife,  leaning  against  the  lintel,  looked 
down  at  him. 

With  difficulty  the  Breton  priest  rose  from  his 
chair.  A  flush  swept  across  his  face,  then  pallor. 
[126] 


DAWN 

He  lifted  his  hand  to  the  neck  of  his  robe ;  a  film 
came  over  his  eyes. 

For  a  moment  the  wife  fluttered  on  the  screen's 
threshold,  then  came  down  and  sat  on  a  stool  close 
by  but  with  her  back  to  him. 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 
THE   DELUGE   FAMILY 

IN  the  phenomena  of  national  life  there  are 
certain  conditions  that  force  men  into  such 
a  labyrinthine  existence  that  they  resemble, 
in  their  bore  and  burrow,  the  teredo.  These  tere- 
brants — human  and  otherwise — exist  to  destroy; 
hence  their  dignity.  Sometimes,  like  the  hymen- 
optera,  they  destroy  to  soar. 

The  Terebration  of  mankind — always  more  or 
less  terrible — has  left  its  wrecks  sticking  desolately 
above  the  floods  of  Time  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
and  shall  through  all  ages  leave  its  wreckage. 
These  human  teredines,  which  have  existed  to  a  j 
greater  or  less  degree  among  all  nations  during 
every  period  of  their  duration,  are  known  by  many 
names.  In  the  Latin  countries  they  are  called  the 
Carbonari;  in  Russia,  the  Nihilists;  Germany,  the 
Socialists — a  teredo  degenerated  into  a  tapeworm; 
Ireland,  the  Clan-na-gael ;  Greece,  the  Haeteria. 
In  France  there  has  always  been  a  mess  of  wrig- 
glers, known  and  unnamed;  in  the  Balkans  is 
another  spew,  which  are  allied  to  the  necrophan, 
and  China,  the  old  and  huge  nation,  has  its  swarm 
[128] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

of  teredo  in  labyrinths  also  old  and  huge  like  itself, 
and  filled  with  unknown  terror. 

The  Tien  Tu  Hin,  unlike  the  teredines  of  Eu- 
rope, is  not  nihilistic,  anarchistic,  or  a  tapeworm; 
but  is  regarded  by  some  as  next  to  the  end  of  the 
world;  by  others  as  the  millennium;  yet,  in  truth, 
what  will  come  out  of  its  two  hundred  and 
forty  years  of  boring  is  not  known.  Such 
things  are  not  even  conjectured  in  the  depths  of  its 
endless  labyrinths. 

During  all  ages  secret  political  organisations 
have  had  prolific  progeny  in  China,  and  when  a 
dynasty  becomes  rotten  they  attack  it  like  an  old 
pile  in  the  sea.  They  gnaw  into  it;  devour;  eat 
upward  or  downward  according  to  the  tide.  The 
result  is  a  cyst  full  of  worms.  When  a  storm 
rises  it  vanishes  or  protrudes  a  stump  at  low 
tide. 

Secret  political  societies  in  China  like  religions 
in  the  Occident,  have  their  immaculate  concep- 
tions, stars,  signs  and  noises;  the  product  of  which 
is  a  founder  having  the  divinity  of  a  god  and  the 
respect;  who  ascends  high  places  to  preach;  who 
governs  and  plays  at  dumb-bells  with  the  moon. 
An  instance  of  this  was  Chang  Kioh,  immaculated 
some  years  subsequent  to  Christ  and  a  disciple  of 
Lao-Tze,  who,  also,  was  not  only  immaculately 
engendered,  but  was  eighty  years  in  gestation,  born 
with  a  white  beard,  and  during  his  senile  infancy 
[129] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
wrote  in  five  thousand  characters  the  religion  of 
Taoism.  This  disciple  formed  the  Yellow  Turban 
Rebels  and  with  them  destroyed  the  Great  Han 
dynasties. 

Matreya,  the  Buddhist  Messiah,  has  been  im- 
maculately foaled,  rebelled,  and  beheaded  a  good 
many  times  in  this  old  land,  while  the  Taiping  Re- 
bellion, which  started  an  half  century  ago  and 
destroyed  more  than  twenty  millions,  all  came 
about  because  Hung  Hsiu  Chiian  was  the  younger 
brother  of  Jesus  and  received  visitations  from 
God. 

But  stranger  things  than  teredines  swarming 
out  of  divinity  have  destroyed  dynasties  in  China. 
That  of  the  Mongols,  founded  by  Genghis  Khan, 
was  annihilated  by  a  ditty  of  the  children  of  Ho- 
nan  and  Hupeh,  who  sang  in  childish  treble : 

"  Down  will  Mongol  kings  be  thrown, 
When  moves  the  One-eyed  Man  of  Stone  " 

During  the  year  1344,  the  One-Eyed  Man  of 
,  Stone  was  found  at  a  place  called  Huanglingkuang 
by  some  labourers,  who  were  repairing  the  banks  of 
the  Yellow  River.  The  rebellions  resulting  ended 
in  the  expulsion  of  the  Mongols  and  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Ming  dynasty  by  the  Buddhist  acolyte, 
Chu  Yuan  Chang. 

Thus  through  all  the  ages  of  China — and  they 
have  been  many — this  terebration  of  man  has 
[130] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

ceased  at  no  time.  Yet  the  Tien  Tu  Hin,  with 
more  than  a  ten  million  swarm  of  human  teredo, 
with  more  than  all  the  wreckers  that  have  gone 
before,  is  still  silent.  What  will  come  out  of  it 
man  not  only  does  not  know,  but  its  immensity  for- 
bids conjecture.  Among  members  it  is  called  the 
Hung  Kia,  the  Deluge  Family;  a  family  so  vast 
and  wide  that  it  is  beyond  our  comprehension;  it 
exceeds  anything  ever  conceived  by  man,  and  its 
labyrinths  extend  from  Siberia  to  Siam — half  of 
Europe  could  be  lost  in  them.  They  crawl  under 
oceans  to  the  Straits  Settlements;  throughout  the 
Malay  Archipelago;  the  Philippines,  India,  Burma, 
Australia,  the  Pacific  Islands,  North,  Central,  and 
South  America.  This  brotherhood  of  the  Deluge 
Family,  bound  by  the  same  oaths,  actuated  by  the 
same  principles  and  obedient  to  the  same  com- 
mands, has  in  its  hidden  recesses  untold  millions. 
While  there  have  been  directed  against  it  the 
most  terrible  penal  laws,  they  avail  not  nor  reach 
down  into  the  depths  where  it  lives,  travels, 
thrives,  and  year  after  year,  in  its  endless  laby- 
rinths, becomes  more  dreaded,  its  murmur  more 
terrible. 

The  terror  about  this  society  is  its  serenity  and 
long  quietude.  Up  to  the  present  time  it  has  hardly 
more  than  growled,  but  silently  these  two  hundred 
and  forty  years  it  has  been  burrowing,  burrowing. 

A  statesman  in  the  reign  of  Kiuking  said: 
[131] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  The  Empire  rests  on  something  like  a  vol- 
cano." 

Occasionally  there  have  been  sporadic  out- 
breaks, and  while  some  of  them  have  been  extensive 
enough  to  annihilate  many  European  kingdoms, 
they  are  only  thought  of  in  the  light  of  incidents, 
a  source  for  anecdotes. 

The  hour  of  the  Rebellion  is  not  yet;  but  will 
come  with  a  manifestation  from  Heaven.  This 
may  be  a  red  star  in  the  East,  or  when  the  Five 
Flags  rise  of  their  own  accord  from  the  earth,  but 
more  probably  when  the  phoenix  sing  from  the 
wutung,  for  at  that  hour  the  Man  has  been  born, 
and  on  that  day  from  all  the  fields  of  the  Empire 
shall  rise  up  those  sown  of  the  dragon's  teeth: 
then  will  the  silence  of  Ages  be  broken,  labyrinths 
uncoil,  and  a  murmur  come  from  depths  so  deep 
and  unknown  that  even  the  world  itself  shall 
shrink  with  dread. 

The  Tien  Tu  Hin  was  founded  about  1674,  in 
the  Province  of  Fokien,  in  the  Putien  District  of 
the  Fuchin  Prefecture.  Here,  among  the  Chui  Lien 
Hills,  in  a  vale  charming  on  account  of  its  solitude, 
was  situated  the  Buddhist  monastery  of  Shao- 
lintze,  built  by  the  priest  Tahtsunye  during  the 
Tang  dynasty  of  the  seventh  century.  But  a  thou- 
sand years  later  the  monks — whether  forgetful 
or  in  accordance  with  the  wishes  of  the  Immortal 
Tah — spent  their  time  in  the  study  of  the  arts  of 
[132] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

war,  eventually  becoming  so  famous  for  their 
knowledge  and  ability  that  men  came  from  all  parts 
of  the  Empire  to  receive  instruction. 

In  the  reign  of  Kanghi,  the  tributary  state 
of  Silu  threw  off  its  allegiance  and  sent  an 
army  into  China,  defeating  successively  all  Im- 
perial forces  brought  against  it.  Edicts  were 
posted  throughout  the  Empire  calling  upon  some- 
one to  free  the  country  from  the  enemy. 
Chu  Kiuntah,  a  student  at  the  monastery, 
took  the  edict  and  hastened  to  the  Vale  of 
Shaolintze.  After  consultation  the  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-eight  monks  offered  their  ser- 
vices. 

The  Emperor  raised  them  all  to  the  rank  of 
general,  conferred  plenary  powers  upon  them,  and 
gave  into  their  keeping  a  triangular  iron  seal  en- 
graved with  four  characters. 

In  three  months  the  Prince  of  Silu  sued  for 
peace,  and  the  monks  returned  to  the  capital  in 
the  midst  of  the  triumphant  songs  of  the  populace, 
while  the  grateful  monarch  offered  them  any 
offices  they  might  choose.  They  asked  nothing 
other  than  permission  to  live  in  peaceful  seclusion 
amongst  their  hills  of  Chui  Lien. 
f  Years  passed,  and  there  rose  high  in  court — 
as  in  the  courts  of  other  nations — two  ministers, 
Chenwangyao  and  Changchensui,  who  plotted  for 
the  seizure  of  the  Empire,  believing  that  it  was  well 
[133] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
within  their  grasp  if  they  could  get  rid  of  the 
monks  of  Shaolintze. 

Accordingly  they  memoralised  the  Emperor, 
accusing  the  monks  of  treason ;  showing  that  since 
they  destroyed  the  victorious  army  of  Silu  with 
ease,  it  would  not  be  difficult  for  them  to  conquer 
China.  They  thus  persuaded  the  Emperor  that  his 
domains  might  at  any  time  be  taken  from  him  and 
begged  to  be  allowed  to  destroy  them  secretly. 

Receiving  the  Emperor's  sanction,  the  two  min- 
isters placed  themselves  at  the  head  of  the  Im- 
perial Guards  and  set  out  for  Fokien.  But  after 
arriving  in  the  Prefecture  of  Fuchui,  they  were 
unable  to  find  the  monastery  hidden  away  among 
the  Chui  Lien  Hills,  and  were  about  to  turn  back 
when  they  came  upon  the  monk,  Ma  Eifuh. 

Ma  Eifuh  ranked  seventh  in  military  skill 
among  the  monks,  but  to  all  accounts  first  in 
lechery,  and  owing  to  his  hot  passion  for  the  wife 
and  the  daughter  of  Chu  Kuintah,  had  been 
bambooed  and  expelled  from  the  monastery.  It 
was  while  wandering  about,  raging  under  this 
punishment  and  disgrace,  that  he  came  upon  the 
Imperial  Guards. 

That  night  he  led  them  to  the  monastery  in 
the  Vale  of  Shaolintze.  Gunpowder  was  placed 
about  its  walls  and  exploded.  One  hundred  and 
nine  of  the  monks  were  instantly  killed,  but  the 
surviving  eighteen,  still  retaining  possession  of 
[134] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

the  triangular  seal,  escaped  into  a  court  and  then 
crawling  through  a  dog  hole  got  clear  of  the 
burning  buildings.  Aided  by  a  thick  fog,  which 
came  suddenly  down  into  the  Vale,  they  passed 
the  Guards  and  proceeded  to  the  village  of  Huang- 
chuen,  where  thirteen  died.  Hence  comes  one  of 
the  terrible  sayings  of  the  Deluge  Family: 

"  On  Huangchuen  road  they  died, 
And  through  a  myriad  years  we  abide, 
They  shall  be  avenged." 

The  five  survivors,  Tsai  Tehchung,  Tang  Ta- 
hung,  Ma  Chaohing,  Hu  Tehti,  and  Li  Shepkai, 
are  now  known  as  the  Five  Patriarchs.  These  five 
monks,  having  burned  the  bodies  of  their  brothers, 
were  proceeding  to  Chung  Shawanken,  in  the  Pre- 
fecture of  Huenchuenfu,  when  suddenly — as  the 
Jews  in  their  flight  from  the  army  of  Egypt — they 
found  water  in  front  of  them  and  the  Imperial 
Guards  in  their  rear. 

The  immortal  founder  of  the  monastery,  Tah- 
tsuntze,  seeing  their  danger,  sent  down  two  clouds, 
which  changed  into  planks  of  copper  and  iron, 
forming  a  bridge  over  which  the  monks  passed  and 
safely  reached  the  Temple  of  Kaochi. 

After   several    days   they    continued   on    their 

way    eastward,    but    before    long    learned    that 

soldiers  were  again  in  pursuit,  and  thereupon  they 

crossed  over  into  Hukwang  where  they  stayed  for 

[135] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
two  weeks.  Again  narrowly  escaping  the  Guards, 
the  monks  fled  to  the  monastery  of  Pao  Chu,  where 
they  remained  a  number  of  days  overwhelmed  with 
distress  and  despair. 

But  it  was  here  that  they  met  Chen  Chinan, 
destined,  as  it  seemed,  by  Heaven  to  become  the 
founder  of  the  Tien  Tu  Hin. 

Chen  Chinan,  a  member  of  the  Hanlin 
Academy,  had  been  President  of  the  Board 
of  Censors  at  the  time  when  Chenwangyao  and 
Changchensui  memoralised  the  throne  to  destroy 
the  monks,  and  had  vigorously  remonstrated  with 
the  Emperor.  This  remonstrance  brought  upon 
him  the  hatred  of  the  two  ministers  that  accused 
him  as  being  a  supporter  of  the  monks.  He  was 
thereupon  deprived  of  his  office  and  expelled  from 
from  court. 

Having  returned  to  his  home  in  Hukwang,  he 
was  devoting  himself  to  study  when  he  met  the 
monks  as  they  were  fleeing  from  the  monastery  of 
Pao  Chu.  Filled  with  compassion,  he  led  them  to 
his  home,  called  the  Grotto  of  the  White  Stork. 

So  now,  when  one  member  meets  another  and 
asks  him  whence  he  comes,  the  answer  is :  "  From 
the  White-Stork  Grotto." 

After  taking  care  of  the  monks  in  his  home  for 
several  weeks,  Chen  Chinan  took  them  to  an  ex- 
tensive establishment  called  the  Hunghauting, — 
the  Red  Flower  Pavilion, — where  they  dwelt  until 
[136] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

one  day,  as  they  were  sauntering  along  the  banks 
of  the  beautiful  Kungwei  River,  they  spied  a 
strange  object  floating  in  its  current;  this  object 
brought  about  their  departure. 

Bringing  the  flotsam  ashore,  the  monks  found 
it  to  be  a  large  stone  tripod  having  two  ears,  such 
as  are  used  in  burning  incense.  On  the  bottom  were 
engraved  four  large  characters:  Fan  Tsing,  Fuh 
Ming,  Destroy  Tsing,  Restore  Ming.  Around 
these  was  a  circle  of  smaller  characters  denoting 
its  weight  to  be  fifty-two  catties  and  thirteen 
taels. 

The  monks  carried  this  granite  vessel  to  the 
top  of  a  neighbouring  hill,  where  they  erected  an 
altar  of  stones.  They  used  guava  twigs  for  candles 
and  grass  for  incense,  water  instead  of  wine. 
As  they  prayed  to  Heaven  that  a  Ming  Emperor 
would  avenge  the  crime  of  Shaolintze,  the  twigs 
and  grass  burst  into  flame.  Seeing  this  the  monks 
returned  in  great  haste  to  the  Red  Flower  Pavil- 
ion and  told  Chen  Chinan  what  had  happened. 

For  a  long  time  this  man,  destined  to  some  yet 
unknown  end,  remained  in  deep  meditation. 

"  It  is  the  will  of  Heaven,"  he  said  presently, 
"  that  the  dynasty  of  Tsing  shall  be  destroyed." 

When  the  time  came  for  the  five  monks  to  de- 
part, Chen  Chinan  stood  before  them,  and  lifting 
his  hands,  spoke: 

"  Go  forth,  ye  Five  Patriarchs,  to  all  quarters 
[137] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
of  the  earth;  over  mountains  and  moorlands, 
across  the  great  lakes  and  five  seas.  Transmit  from 
man  to  man  our  secret  words  and  signs.  Be  patient, 
and  Heaven  shall  in  its  wisdom  manifest  the  time 
for  the  assembling  of  the  Deluge  Family." 

Chen  Chinan  then  returned  to  his  Grotto  of  the 
White  Stork,  while  the  Five  Patriarchs  went  their 
separate  ways  to  organise  the  Deluge  in  Five 
Grand  Sections,  and  to  prepare  for  their  assembly. 

More  than  two  hundred  and  forty  years  have 
passed,  yet  their  successors  cease  in  no  way  this 
preparation. 

The  Deluge  Family  founded,  this  dreaded  as- 
sembly of  men  above  whose  labyrinths  a  third 
of  mankind  waits  to  be  redeemed  by  it  or  be 
drowned  in  it — a  Deluge  of  blood:  to  hurl  the 
world  into  war  and  bring  out  of  it  Universal 
Peace. 

The  Deluge  Family — like  other  families — has 
acquired  in  the  course  of  time  peculiarities  besides 
that  of  vastness. 

In  writing  the  members  use  superfluous  or  half 
characters  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make  what  is 
written  unreadable  to  the  uninitiated.  In  speaking 
they  have  a  vocabulary  of  their  own. 

In  the  language  of  the  Hung  Kia,  fowls  are 
known  by  numbers;  a  goose  is  six,  a  duck  eight. 
Beef  is  called  great  vegetables,  and  a  fish  a  tail- 
shaker  or  wave-borer.  A  dog  is  a  mosquito  and 
[138] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

that  insect  a  needle,  while  a  mosquito  curtain  is  a 
lantern.  Wine  is  known  as  red  or  green  water; 
oil  as  family  harmony  and  water  as  three  rivers. 
To  ask  a  person  to  smoke  tobacco  is  to  request  him 
to  bite  ginger.  To  smoke  opium  is  biting  clouds 
and  the  name  of  opium  is  clouds  travelling.  To  ask 
persons  to  dine  is  inviting  them  to  farm  sand  and 
waves.  A  teacup  is  called  a  lotus  bud ;  a  wine  cup 
a  lotus  seed,  and  a  plate,  a  lotus  leaf.  Chop-sticks 
are  golden  selecters  and  roast  pork  becomes  golden 
brindle.  In  speaking  of  the  Deluge  Family,  a 
Lodge  is  called  the  Red  Flower  Pavilion  or  the 
Pine  and  Cedar  Grove.  To  join  the  Society  is  to 
enter  the  Circle  or  be  Born.  To  hold  a  meeting  is 
known  as  letting  loose  the  horses.  A  member  is 
called  heung — fragrance  or  a  hero.  A  non-member 
is  a  partridge  or  wind  of  a  leper.  A  road  is  a 
thread,  and  to  travel  is  walking  the  thread. 
Sometimes  the  meaning  of  their  vocabulary  is 
unaccountable.  An  Ancestral  Hall  is  called  a 
privy  and  a  market  Universal  Peace.  In  this 
strange  language  a  bed  is  a  drying  stage  and 
to  sleep  is  to  dry.  A  sword  is  called  silken  crepe, 
and  a  dagger  young  lion.  A  cannon  is  a  black  dog, 
its  report  a  dog's  bark,  its  powder  a  dog's  dung. 
An  handkerchief  is  a  white  cloud,  a  fan  the  cres- 
cent moon.  The  ears  are  known  as  fair  wind,  and 
to  cut  them  off  is  to  lower  the  fair  wind.  Cutting 
off  the  head  is  called  washing  the  face.  The  sea 
[i39l 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
is  the  great  sky,  and  to  murder  by  drowning  is  to 
bathe ;  while  to  be  drowned  in  the  sea  is  to  be  low- 
ered into  the  great  sky. 

The  members  have  numerous  ways  of  testing 
one  another  by  arranging  and  handing  teacups, 
tobacco  pipes,  and  other  articles. 

One  member  may  ask  another  why  his  nose 
bleeds,  and  he  answers :  "  It  is  the  Waters  of  the 
Deluge  flowing  out  of  their  channels."  This  ter- 
rible enigma  is  derived  from  a  saying  by  Mencius, 
"  And  a  Deluge  shall  overflow  the  country." 

A  member  may  ask :  "  Why  is  your  face  yel- 
low?" and  is  answered:  "It  is  troubled  for  my 
country."  Or,  "Why  is  your  face  red?"  and 
answered :  "  I  have  been  drinking  wine  in  the 
Temple  of  War." 

"What  do  you  hope  for?" 
"  The  Market  of  Universal  Peace." 
The  entire  ritual  is  carried  on  in  verse — a  rhythm 
of  terrors — while  conversation  between  members  is 
in  poetic  form.  If  a  member  is  asked  to  rescue  a 
brother    it    is    done    by    placing    a    pot    of    tea 
with  a  single  cup  before  him.  Should  he  be  un- 
able to  do  anything  with  the  commands  he  throws 
the  tea  away,  but  if  able,  he  drinks,  saying : 

"  A   horseman    comes    with   might    and    speed 
To  save  his  prince,  alone,  in  need, 
And  with  him  comes  the  Age's  horde 
To  give  the  throne  to  our  Ming  Lord." 

[ 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 
If  a  pot  of  tea  and  three  cups  are  put  before  a 
member  he  is  being  asked  to  take  part  in  a  fight. 
If  he  consents  he  drinks  the  middle  cup,  repeating: 

"  Lu,  Kwang,  and  Chang  in  the  garden  swore, 
To  heed  Duke  Tsai's  commands  no  more, 
And  through  all  Ages  let  their  fame, 
Be  upheld  in  Virtue's  name." 

There  are  thirty-six  arrangements  of  tea-cups, 
each  signifying  something  different  and  each  an- 
swerable with  a  verse.  In  the  like  manner  the 
presence  of  an  unknown  brother  is  made  manifest 
first  by  some  secret  sign,  which  he  should  answer, 
then  by  the  repetition  of  a  verse.  Should  a  junk  be 
attacked  by  pirates  and  the  crew  as  well  as  pirates 
be  members  of  the  Deluge  Family,  the  crew  re- 
peats : 

"  Our  mast  is  eyed  with  Deluge  light, 
And  softly  shines  by  day  or  night; 
Men  rob  not  one  another 
When  in  the  Circle  born  a  brother." 

Members  sometimes  teach  their  wives  verses 
for  emergencies,  as  in  rebellions,  and  should  an 
attempt  be  made  to  ravish  her,  she  repeats: 


:The  sun  shines  redly  in  the  East, 
I  wilt,  a  flower  with  fragrance  ceased, 
Fresher  flowers  beyond  are  found, 
My  husband  to  the  Flood  is  bound." 
[141] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

Whenever  a  member  needs  assistance  in  a  fight, 
he  holds  up  the  right  hand  with  thumb,  first,  and 
second  fingers  expanded  an  equal  distance  apart', 
while  the  third  and  fourth  fingers  are  closed;  at 
the  same  time,  the  thumb  and  the  first  two  fingers 
of  the  left  hand  are  placed  open  on  the  right  elbow. 
To  call  to  battle  is  to  hold  the  right  hand  over  the 
head  with  the  thumb  pointing  upwards.  We  know 
of  nothing  more  terrifying  than  this  pointing  up 
of  thumbs  to  Heaven. 

When  a  fight  is  about  to  take  place,  the  queue 
is  looped  over  the  right  shoulder  after  having  been 
brought  around  the  neck  and  fastened  in  what  is 
called  the  sign  of  Shou.  A  cry  rises  from  those 
that  have  laid  upon  themselves  this  sign.  It  is  not 
thunder,  not  a  moan.  It  is  the  growl  of  Eternity, 
"  Hung  Shun  Tien  " — The  Deluge  obeys  Heaven. 

This  vast  Brotherhood  is  subject  to  twenty-one 
rules:  Ten  Prohibitions;  Ten  Punishable  Offences. 
In  addition  there  are  thirty-six  oaths  bequeathed  by 
the  Five  Patriarchs.  Death  is  the  inevitable  pun- 
ishment for  those  that  break  them. 

Oath  Seven  reads:  "  If  any  brother  is  unable  to 
escape  you  swear  to  assist  him,  no  matter  what  are 
the  consequences.  If  there  are  any  that  do  not 
adhere  to  these  feelings  of  kinship,  let  thunder 
annihilate  them." 

Number  Twenty  reads:  "If  officials  arrest  a 
brother,  his  escape  is  most  important.  You  swear 
[142] 


THE    DELUGE   FAMILY 

to  see  to  this.  Those  that  refuse  to  give  such  aid 
shall  die  beneath  ten  thousand  knives." 

The  last  of  the  Great  Oaths  is  the  Apocalypse 
of  this  Empire  in  its  gloom.  "  All  ye  that  enter  the 
Deluge  Family,  scholars,  husbandmen,  merchants, 
industrious  labourers,  mechanics,  Confucianists, 
Buddhists,  Taoists,  physicians,  astrologers,  geom- 
ancers,  lictors,  thieves,  pirates,  officials,  execution- 
ers, and  all  others,  swear  loyalty  above  all 
things.  Ye  are  the  hands  and  feet  of  one  body, 
obedient  to  the  Head.  Ye  must  bow  down  to  the 
Five  Seal-bearers  and  obey  them.  If  any  show 
duplicity  or  fail  to  exert  themselves,  let  them  die 
beneath  ten  thousand  knives." 

Such  is  the  Tien  Tu  Hin,  the  Association  of 
Heaven  and  Earth:  enormous,  unseen;  filled  with 
terror  and  serenity;  vast,  invisible;  its  labyrinths 
endless  as  are  the  veins  of  the  earth,  and  like  the 
earth's  depths,  asurge  with  molten  lava;  calm, 
portentous,  peaceful,  terrible;  born  to  avenge  a 
crime;  fostered  to  destroy  a  dynasty;  matured  to 
establish  Universal  Peace. 

By  the  hand  of  thoughtful  Fate  the  Breton  was 
led  into  its  labyrinths  and  became  part  of  it  and  of 
its  terror. 


[143] 


CHAPTER   NINE 
THE    DERELICT 

THE  Brotherhood  of  Tien  Tu  Hin,  swal- 
lowing in  its  deluge  all  degrees  of  man- 
kind, likewise  swallows  now  and  then 
one  of  those  nameless  Europeans  whom  Fate  has 
utterly  cast  adrift  in  those  mysterious  currents  of 
the  Orient  Seas. 

While  not  generally  understood,  yet  it  is  true 
that  most  Occidentals,  who  by  choice  have  drifted 
heretofore  on  Orient  streams,  have  almost  al- 
ways been  derelicts  of  some  kind.  Thither  noble 
scions,  criminals,  priests,  soldiers  of  fortune  have 
drifted.  Some  have  prospered  and  some  in  the 
wild  surge  of  these  seas  have  been  wrecked  and 
sunk. 

The  flotsam  of  humanity,  like  the  drift  of  rivers, 
like  the  derelicts  of  the  sea,  is  but  wreckage  of 
some  sort  hurried  along  in  those  irresistible  cur- 
rents that  we  call  Fate.  Each  village  has  its  little 
eddy  where,  round  and  round  in  quiet  whirl,  the 
neighbouring  drift  collects.  Each  country  has  its 
maelstrom,  a  black  whirlpool  where  is  collected  the 
debris  of  human  kind.  This  debris,  starting  at  the 
top  in  wide  circles,  whirls  round;  swirling  deeper 
[144] 


THE    DERELICT 

and  deeper  until  it  disappears  through  that  nar- 
row abysmal  funnel.  These  terrible  vortices  are 
never  still  and  never  without  their  debris.  London 
is  such  a  maelstrom,  so  is  Paris,  so  is  New  York. 

The  world  also  has  its  colossal  eddy,  but  they 
that  drift  upon  the  world's  currents  are  derelicts, 
not  debris;  it  is  true  both  are  wreckage,  but  there 
is  a  wide  difference  between  them.  Debris  is  scum; 
derelicts  are  wrecks.  Scum  from  scum  arises; 
derelicts  may  be  the  wrecks  of  greatness.  Debris 
is  unnamed;  the  House  of  Orleans  is  a  derelict, 
and  its  princes  have  died  by  the  wash  of  the  China 
Sea. 

The  seas  are  awash  with  derelicts  of  different 
kinds.  Some,  in  due  time,  like  the  hulks  of  the 
old  East  Indiamen,  become  thrifty,  incrustat- 
ing  themselves  with  spray  gusts  of  silver,  and  fur- 
ring themselves  with  the  fur  of  their  drift;  a 
wealth  clings  to  them  and  they  become  stranded 
by  riches.  They  are  found  imbedded  in  all  Orien- 
tal ports,  and  while  they  have  formed  a  new  en- 
vironment, they  still  remain  conspicuous. 

Again  these  seas  are  adrift  with  derelicts  that 
would  succour;  as  when  men  float  on  the  sea  in  an 
open  boat  suddenly  behold  with  immeasurable  joy 
a  speck  in  the  distance.  It  approaches,  they  board 
it,  but  only  too  often  to  find  it  hollow. 

Derelicts  most  known   are  those  that  destroy. 
Deserted,  forsaken,  alone  in  this  coaxing  wilder- 
[145] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
ness  of  waves,  they  drink  deeply  of  their  unre- 
straint   and    become    master-derelicts    of    death; 
hurling  themselves,  areek  with  froth,  on  vessels 
they  sink  and  on  rocks  which  destroy. 

In  a  fisherman's  hut  near  by  the  Bay  of  Tai 
Wan,  a  hovel  mud-walled,  windowless,  rice- 
thatched,  cluttered  with  poverty,  dark  and  dismal, 
there  lay  dying  a  derelict  of  this  latter  kind. 

The  only  brightness  within  the  hut  was  a  float- 
ing taper  burning  before  the  Ancestral  Tablets  and 
sending  through  the  gloom  its  trembling,  hesitant 
rays.  This  glimmering  light  that  fell  agleam  on 
the  tablets  lit  the  faces  and  forms  of  three  persons, 
two  peasants  and  a  foreigner.  The  stranger  lay 
upon  the  only  bed  in  the  hut,  and  the  peasants 
squatted  beside  him.  A  clot  of  blood  was  upon 
his  bosom,  and  a  red  froth  oozed  from  between 
his  teeth,  which  the  woman  was  wiping  away  with 
a  wet  cloth,  while  her  husband  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
and  reverent  upon  a  Great  Medallion  suspended 
from  the  neck  of  the  dying  man,  and  glittering 
beside  the  wound  in  his  breast. 

This  Symbol  or  Seal  consisted  of  two  parts :  the 
outer  being  about  four  inches  square,  but  quin- 
quangular  in  shape  and  made  from  a  rare  green 
stone  found  only  in  the  jungled  mountains  of  Yun- 
nan, resembling  the  green  of  a  tiger's  eye;  gleam- 
ing, glittering  in  the  dusk.  On  each  of  the  five 
corners  was  a  raised  gold  character,  and  a  golden 
[146] 


THE    DERELICT 

rim  ran  around  the  edge.  The  second  part  con- 
sisted of  a  mottled  bloodstone  placed  on  the  centre 
of  the  other,  octagonal  in  shape,  about  an  inch  in 
diameter,  and  having  on  its  high,  rounded  apex 
a  gold  trigram,  the  meaning  of  which  is  not  less 
terrible  than  it  is  unknown.  This  blood-green 
stone  with  its  glint  of  gold  glittered  with  a  light 
peculiarly  significant,  and  the  peasant's  eyes  grew 
round  as  he  watched  it  shudder  on  the  breast  of 
the  dying  man. 

He  whispered  to  his  wife :  "  It  is  the  Great 
Symbol." 

She  drew  back  with  an  expression  of  terror. 

"  If  they  find  him  here,  we  will  be  beheaded !  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  shall  we  do?" 

"  Nurse  him." 

The  woman  wiped  the  red  froth  from  the  man's 
lips  and  the  red  clot  from  his  bosom. 

"If  he  dies?"  the  peasant  woman  whispered. 

"  We  will  bury  him." 

"  And  that  ?  "  she  pointed  to  the  Great  Symbol. 

The  man  on  the  bed  moved  uneasily;  his  eyes 
opened,  but  he  saw  nothing. 

"  He  is  going  to  talk  again  in  his  own  speech," 
said  the  woman,  moving  cautiously  away.  "  Find 
someone  to  understand,"  she  pleaded.  "  Who 
knows  what  he  may  say? — and  perhaps  he  will 
tell  what  to  do  with  that  Eye." 
[147] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  I  heard  to-day  that  a  foreigner  was  in  the 
village." 

"One  of  these?" 

'*  No ;  a  priest  from  Yingching." 

The  peasant  buried  his  face  in  his  arms,  and 
for  some  time  crouched  on  his  heels.  Afterward 
he  went  quietly  out. 

The  woman  fetched  some  clean  water,  and  con- 
tinued to  bathe  the  man's  bosom  and  lips.  She 
crooned  to  herself. 

"  I  do  not  see  why  men  do  these  things.  If  they 
would  only  plant  their  own  rice  this  would  not 
happen.  I  do  not  understand  what  crop  they  ex- 
pect to  get.  When  the  rice-fields  are  burned  how 
can  there  be  any  rice  ?  When  the  mulberry  bushes 
are  cut  down  how  can  there  be  any  worms?  When 
the  worms  are  dead  who  shall  spin  silk?  They 
kill,  kill,  kill,  and  their  killings  they  cannot  eat. 
They  bring  home  neither  pigs  nor  fowl.  Once  I 
said  to  one  of  them,  *  Why  do  you  kill  ?  '  And  he 
answered,  *  We  are  soldiers.'  Now  I  do  not 
understand  that. 

"  Poor  man,  and  what  will  your  wife  say?  To 
come  across  the  Five  Seas  just  to  get  stuck  full  of 
holes.  Now  who  will  carry  back  your  bones?  I 
do  not  know  why  you  foreigners  are  such  devils 
to  fight  and  to  pray.  My  husband  belongs  to  the 

Deluge  Family,  but  I  will  not  let No,  no, 

you  must  not  get  up.  Poor  man,  poor  man,  I  don't 


THE   DERELICT 

suppose  you  will  ever  fight  any  more.  If  you  had 
only  spoken  to  your  wife  she  could  have  told  you 
that  this  would  happen.  When  men  don't  speak 
to  their  wives  they  get  into  trouble.  I  wish  you 
did  not  have  that  Eye  upon  your  breast.  How  ter- 
rible it  is  to  be  a  great  man;  how  sorry  I  am  for 

their No,  no,  do  not  talk,  you  are  getting 

blood  all  over  my  bed." 

The  man,  endeavouring  to  speak,  had  turned 
upon  his  side,  and  a  quantity  of  blood  spurted  from 
his  mouth.  After  that  he  rested  easier,  and  the 
red  froth  ceased  to  ooze  from  between  his  teeth, 
though  it  still  came  from  the  wound  in  his  side. 
This  the  woman  continued  to  wipe  away. 

Suddenly  he  snapped  his  fingers  imperiously. 

"Cha " 

The  woman  hastily  brought  a  bowl  of  tea  and 
held  it  to  his  lips,  but  he  could  not  drink. 

Thus  as  she  tended  him  the  hours  of  night 
passed.  She  became  restless,  and  sometimes  left 
his  side  to  peer  into  the  darkness,  where  was  heard 
only  the  swish  of  wing  and  splash  of  wild  fowl. 

There  came  a  mumbling  from  the  bed,  then 
coughing,  and  another  spurting  of  blood.  As  the 
woman  washed  his  face  he  opened  his  eyes,  bright 
with  the  delirium  of  death,  and  resting  his  hand 
upon  her  head  he  began  to  speak  in  gentle,  piteous 
tones. 

The  woman,  turning  away,  saw  through  the 
[149] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
open  door  the  approach  of  a  bobbing  lantern.  She 
returned  to  the  bed  and  threw  a  rough  cloth  over 
the  wounded  man,  put  a  jar  in  front  of  the  taper, 
and  seating  herself  by  the  door  waited. 

The  Breton  priest  entered,  followed  by  the 
woman's  husband  and  several  others.  Without 
hesitation  he  crossed  the  room  and  sat  down  by 
the  bed.  The  woman  took  the  jar  from  in  front 
of  the  taper,  and  as  the  priest  drew  the  rough 
coverlet  from  the  dying  man  the  light  fell  upon 
the  Great  Symbol.  The  men  that  came  with  him 
gazed  at  it  for  a  moment  then  bowed  their  heads 
thrice  to  the  floor. 

As  the  priest  took  hold  of  the  man's  hand  he 
opened  his  eyes  to  look  at  him  and  smiled.  Then 
in  a  low,  uncertain  voice  began  a  quatrain  of  col- 
lege revelry.  His  eyes  closed;  he  mumbled. 

Suddenly  he  began  to  speak  again.  He  pleaded 
and  a  woman's  name  trembled  on  his  lips. 

The  Breton  turned  away. 

The  derelict  choked,  spat  blood  upon  the  Bre- 
ton, then  lay  stilK  Tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks, 
sometimes  mingling  with  his  blood  to  scintillate 
for  an  instant  like  rubies  on  the  coarse  cloth.  This 
grief  of  his  was  more  than  bitter — it  was  the  grief 
of  the  strong  dying,  a  packing  of  pain  into 
Eternity.  He  moaned  and  brought  a  pallor  to  the 
cheeks  of  the  priest.  He  sighed  and  the  pain  of  it 
was  indescribable. 

[ISO] 


THE    DERELICT 

Presently  he  began  to  breathe  hoarsely,  then 
mumbling,  speaking — the  speech  of  his  wild  life. 
One  moment  in  combat  with  Malay  praus;  hur- 
tling through  the  water;  repelling  boarders;  curs- 
ing, exultant,  frenzied  and  the  swish  of  the  kris 
was  in  the  air.  Then  followed  commands,  as  when 
the  typhoon  is  on  sea,  and  in  his  quivering  tones 
was  the  echo  of  the  wind's  scream.  Fights  in  the 
jungle — soft,  creeping,  peering,  throttling.  Then 
in  the  open,  commands,  curses,  silence. 

Suddenly,  as  he  muttered  the  ritual  of  the 
Deluge  Family — sombre  and  unrelenting,  he  rose 
up  in  bed  with  his  hand  over  the  dripping  wound. 
As  he  fell  the  priest  turned  him  gently  upon  his 
side,  and  taking  the  bowl  of  fresh  water  the  woman 
brought  him,  bathed  his  face. 

The  dying  man  opened  his  eyes. 

"Where  am  I?" 

"  In  a  hut  near  the  village  of  Tai  Po."  \ 

"Who  are  you?" 

"A  priest." 

"  A  rogue  like  myself." 

"  You  are  wounded." 

"  I  am  dying." 

The  derelict  raised  his  head  and  looked  sternly 
at  the  men  in  the  room,  who  seeing  him  look  at 
them,  fell  upon  their  knees,  striking  their  heads 
thrice  upon  the  floor. 

"  It  is  well." 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

He  studied  the  sad  profile  above  him. 

"  Priest,"  his  voice  was  without  its  wildness, 
"  priest,  I  am  dying.  It  is  what  I  have  been  trying 
to  do  for  many  years — by  land  and  by  sea " 

The  pain  of  speaking  became  too  great. 

He  fumbled  with  the  chain  around  his  neck,  con- 
sisting of  gold  links  each  about  an  inch  and  a  half 
in  length,  and  made  up  of  two  dragons  contending 
for  a  pearl. 

The  priest  removed  it,  and  the  derelict,  taking 
it  in  his  hands,  whispered: 

"Closer!" 

The  Breton  bent  near  to  him,  and  the  chain  with 
the  Great  Seal  of  the  Tien  Tu  Hin  was  hung 
around  his  neck. 

"  Never  take  it  off,"  the  dying  man  whispered 
hoarsely.  "  I — I — command."  His  eyes  closed 
and  the  pallor  of  death  came  upon  him. 

The  priest  leaned  close;  all  listened,  for  the 
speech  of  the  derelict  was  precious. 

His  lips  moved,  and  the  Breton  bending  closer 
heard : 

«  Alice " 

And  so  he  died. 

The  priest  on  his  knees  held  his  crucifix  over  the 
body  of  the  derelict. 

Hours  passed,  and  still  the  Breton  did  not  move. 
The  stillness  in  the  room  was  unbroken,  and  the 
men  crouching  upon  the  floor  hardly  breathed. 
[152] 


THE   DERELICT 

The  only  sounds  were  the  weird  flight  of  wild 
fowl  as  they  winged  their  way  through  the  night. 

A  cock  crowed. 

Night  was  ending,  and  the  priest,  rising,  stood 
before  the  men  with  the  Great  Symbol  glittering 
on  his  breast.  Thrice  again  the  men  struck  their 
foreheads  upon  the  earthen  floor. 

"  At  the  break  of  day  we  will  bury  him." 

The  men  wrapped  the  body  in  a  shroud  of  rough 
cloth,  and  when  darkness  began  to  give  away  to 
that  cold  grey  dusk  that,  without  being  night  nor 
day,  is  yet  the  sick  pallor  of  Time,  they  went  forth 
and  followed  along  the  embankment  of  the  paddy- 
fields  until  they  came  to  a  low  hillside  close  to 
the  sea. 

It  was  natural  that  this  casket  of  the  derelict 
should  mould  near  the  ocean's  wash,  for  on  its 
turbulent  stream  he  had  been  blown  hither  and 
thither,  unknown,  unseen,  a  wreck  in  its  wayward 
currents.  There  had  he  drifted  and  fought  and 
mourned — a  sad  and  perhaps  terrible  soul.  Well 
might  the  sea  dirge  to  his  spirit  its  eonic  plaint — 
that  melancholy  chant  of  Eternity.  And  well  was 
it  that  they  should  remain  forever  together,  the 
living  sorrow  and  the  dead. 

Low  down  on  the  hillside  they  dug  his  grave. 

A  rift  of  light,  almost  lurid,  glowed  just  above 
the  rim  of  swaying  waters. 

They  put  the  derelict  in  his  grave,  and  the  priest, 
[153] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
holding  his  crucifix  above  him,  stood  over  the 
open  tomb.  Upon  his  upturned  face  shone  the 
red  light  of  morning,  while  a  vaporous  mist  like 
streams  of  incense  rose  from  the  grave  and  broken 
earth  around  him.  As  the  priest  prayed  the  Great 
Symbol  rose  and  fell  upon  his  bosom  with  the 
rhythm  of  his  silent  prayer,  quivering  and  afire 
in  the  red  glare  of  heaven. 

The  men,  seeing  the  Great  Eye  flashing  redly, 
knelt  down  before  the  Breton  and  rested  their 
foreheads  upon  the  earth. 

The  prayer  ended;  then  the  priest  sounded,  ter- 
rifying in  its  majestic  intonations,  the  awful  Taps 
of  the  God  of  Wrath. 

"  Dies  Irae,  dies  ilia 
Solvet  saeculum  in  favilla 
Teste  David  cum  Sybilla. 

"  Lacrymosa  dies  ilia 
Dua  refurget  ex  favilla 
Judicandus  homo  reus 
Huic  ergo  parce  Deus." 


[154] 


CHAPTER   TEN 
TWILIGHT 

THE  Bay  of  Tai  Wan,  where  the  Breton 
had  been  for  more  than  a  month  and 
upon  whose  shore  he  had  buried  the  dere- 
lict, is  a  long  distance  down  the  coast  southeast  of 
Yingching,  and  is  famous  on  account  of  the  evil 
spoken  of  it.  This  bay  and  country  has  a  bad  name, 
which  is  due  to  God  as  well  as  to  those  that  dwell 
on  its  wild  wash. 

The  waters  of  the  bay  are  not  blue,  but  a  red- 
dish-brown, and  are  serrated  with  the  fins  of  the 
spotted  shark,  which  lurk  in  its  depths;  for  the 
feed  in  this  bay  is  sometimes  abundant,  not  only 
when  the  gale  is  upon  the  sea,  but  more  often  when 
men  come  together.  The  mountains  that  surround 
the  bay  on  the  south,  west,  and  north  are  not  high, 
but  they  are  sinister;  their  south  slopes  desolate; 
those  on  the  north  gloomy  with  thickets.  The  nar- 
row valleys  extending  back  from  the  bay  are 
diked,  terraced,  and  made  into  paddy-fields,  or 
are  walled  and  made  into  towns,  armed,  forbid- 
ding. The  lowlands  below  them  are  also  dammed 
from  the  sea  tides,  and  in  those  places  not  suitable 
[155] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
for  rice  are  salt  pans,  where  the  sea  is  evaporated 
for  its  salt. 

The  men  that  live  on  the  Bay  of  Tai  Wan  have 
no  settled  occupation.  They  are  farmers  when  the 
time  comes  to  sow  rice  and  to  harvest  it;  they  are 
fishermen,  who  know  the  bed  of  the  sea ;  smugglers 
in  their  peaceful  moods,  but  pirates  always,  and 
months  are  few  when  their  mountains  do  not  re- 
sound with  the  noise  of  combat;  when  the  brown 
surge  of  the  bay  is  without  loitering  spars,  or  dead 
or  wreckage. 

The  secrets  of  this  turbulent  place,  the  fights 
fought  there;  the  deeds  of  valour;  the  hopes  and 
the  end  of  hopes — gone  down  in  its  depths  are 
without  number.  To  look  upon  its  waters  is  to 
shudder;  to  live  there  is  to  fear  neither  God  nor 
His  judgment;  to  go  there  requires  the  courage  of 
a  child,  so  the  bishop  had  sent  the  Breton. 

The  priest,  leaving  Yingching  at  daybreak,  sent 
no  word  to  the  wife,  but  went  away  happy  in  that 
nameless  credulity,  which  belongs  ordinarily  to 
neither  man  nor  woman,  but  only  to  children  or 
such  as  he.  And  yet  the  Breton  was  not  to  blame, 
for  happiness  was  the  cause  of  it.  Many  weeks 
had  already  passed  since  the  wife  had  opened  the 
wicket  and  had  come  down  to  sit  beside  him — 
weeks  that  had  vanished  with  the  brevity  of  a 
dream. 

Each  day  she  fluttered  for  a  moment  on  the 
[156] 


TWILIGHT 

threshold,  then  came  down  and  seated  herself  near 
him;  but  it  always  remained  as  the  first  day,  a 
vision,  a  tremor,  a  silence.  The  wife  sat  with  her 
back  to  him,  and  not  often  did  the  Breton  dare  to 
raise  his  eyes  nor  even  glance  furtively  at  the  beau- 
tiful contour  of  her  neck  and  shoulders,  nor  at 
the  delicate  bloom  that  crept  back  from  her  cheek. 
But  sometimes  there  was  a  quick  turning  of  her 
head,  a  flash  of  light — then  he  trembled. 

The  happiness  of  all  this  nearness,  stillness,  and 
flashes  brought  about  no  change  in  the  outward 
demeanour  of  the  Breton.  There  is  but  little  dif- 
ference in  appearance  of  a  torrent  at  half  flood 
and  nearly  at  full  flood.  Only  the  beginnings  and 
what  ensues  from  it  are  noticed.  The  flood  was 
still  rising,  and  when  the  Breton  was  sent  by  the 
bishop  to  the  wild  Bay  of  Tai  Wan,  he  left  as  he 
had  remained  during  the  past  weeks,  dreaming, 
without  smiles,  joyous,  silent. 

The  priest's  journey  was  distant,  and  his  stay 
among  these  turbulent  sea-dwellers  had  been  long; 
but  he  had  much  to  do  to  keep  him  busy;  much  to 
remember  and  dream  about,  which  kept  him  happy. 

The  people  had  received  him  with  scowls,  sus- 
picion, and  threats.  In  the  market  place  of  Hsia 
Wan  a  rock  thrown  at  him  struck  a  boy  hooting 
by  his  side.  He  dressed  the  wound.  Crossing  a 
narrow  islet  to  the  village  of  Yat  Ho,  his  boat 
was  purposely  overturned;  without  a  word  of 
[157] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
remonstrance  or  show  of  concern,  he  paid  the  boat- 
man and  went  on  his  way.  At  midnight  he  passed 
through  the  tiger-infested  woods  of  Foshui  and 
Sanshu  from  Tai  Po  to  the  hut  of  the  fisher.  In 
this  way  it  was  not  long  before  his  dreaminess  was 
construed  into  fearlessness  and  admired  by  those 
amphibious  bandits  of  the  bay.  And  whomever  a 
Chinese  pirate  admires  men  should  stand  in  awe 
of  or  look  upon  him  as  a  child. 

The  Breton  went  about  his  duties  without  cessa- 
tion except  at  dusk,  and  then,  when  those  about 
him  had  ceased  their  labours,  he  would  seek  the 
solitude  of  the  sea-bank  as  he  had  that  of  the  river. 
It  is  doubtful  if  he  perceived  that  instead  of 
the  great  city  with  its  lessening  but  varied  noises 
there  were  behind  him  mountains  down  whose 
desolate  sides  came  gloom  instead  of  twilight, 
while  the  only  sounds  that  rose  from  them  were 
the  bark  of  jackal  and  scream  of  night-bird. 
Not  after  the  hour  of  sundown  were  to  be  heard  at 
all  the  hard  noises  of  labour,  nor  the  wild  mut- 
ter of  these  sea-dwellers  in  their  daily  life.  When 
the  evening  guns  had  boomed  from  the  walls  of 
their  villages  and  from  their  low  long  boats  at 
anchorage  had  come  the  last  roll  of  kettle-drum, 
the  clash  of  cymbals,  and  burst  of  crackers,  a  deep 
silence  brooded  over  all  except  cries  from  the  moun- 
tains and  the  sea's  muffled  splash. 

As  dusk  deepens  this  Bay  of  Tai  Wan  takes  on 
[158] 


TWILIGHT 

a  terror  of  its  own.  By  day  its  waters  are  a  reddish- 
brown,  and  its  wave-crests  look  like  yellow  floss; 
by  night  it  is  black,  and  its  wave-crests  flashes  of 
fire.  This  strange  phenomenon  is  due  to  the  fact 
that  the  sea  along  this  coast  teems  with  phos- 
phorescent protozoa,  making  it  a  red-brown  by 
day,  and  when  night  falls  there  is  seen  in  every 
movement  of  the  waters  a  glint  of  green  fire. 
Wave-crests  moving  shoreward  are  as  an  endless 
flight  of  monstrous  fire-flies.  Where  the  sea 
breaks  on  the  wash  and  rocks  the  spray  becomes  a 
shower  of  green  sparks,  so  that  the  shore-line  burns 
with  a  cold,  livid  fire.  Among  the  flame-crests  are 
seen  zig-zag  lines — the  fiery  trace  of  shark  fins. 
Sometimes  a  green  coal  glows  in  the  blackness,  a 
tortoise  floating  in  the  break  of  the  sea;  some- 
times a  swarm  of  flying  fishes  rise  from  the  waves, 
their  scales  and  membranous  wings  adrift  with  a 
green  fire,  and  for  a  moment  their  flight  is  ghastly. 
Looking  down  the  edge  of  a  cliff  the  shallow  sea 
is  filled  with  monsters  aflame.  Man  never  wit- 
nessed a  more  horrible  sight  than  the  sea  at  Tai 
Wan  by  night.  Nothing  that  moves  escapes  the 
clinging  protozoa :  fish  darting  through  the  black- 
ness have  every  scale,  spine,  maw,  and  tooth  cov- 
ered with  this  ghastly  glow;  the  hairy  legs  and 
bodies  of  sea-spiders,  their  protruding  eyes  and 
fangs  glitter  in  frightful  luminosity;  gleaming 
snakes  glance  through  the  depths.  Squids  some- 
[159] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
times   hide   their   fire-covered  bodies   in   a   black 
vomit,  but  Crustacea,  sea-toads,  and  larvae  all  burn- 
ing in  this  livid  fire  wriggle  about  under  the  black 
waters. 

It  was  over  this  sea  that  the  Breton  dreamed 
and  was  joyous;  it  was  by  this  sea  that  he  buried 
the  derelict  whose  chain  and  Seal  he  wore  under 
his  robe — a  promise  to  the  dead,  but  in  due  time 
to  be  more  precious  to  him  than  all  the  jewels  that 
have  bedecked  men,  and  more  powerful  than 
Empires. 

The  Breton  once  more  stood  before  the  screen, 
eager,  hesitant;  straining  his  ears  for  the  music 
of  a  silken  rustle;  his  eyes  for  one  pink  finger-tip. 
He  waited  a  long  time,  but  heard  nothing,  nor  saw 
even  one  little  finger  resting  shyly  in  a  crevice. 

"What,  you  here?" 

He  raised  his  eyes  joyously. 

"Well?" 

"  I  have  come  back,"  his  words  were  almost  in- 
audible. 

"Indeed!" 

He  looked  down  happily. 

"  How  did  you  happen  to  return  ?  Did  I  send 
for  you?"  The  voice  of  the  wife  was  cold, 
vibrant. 

The  Breton's  eyes  wandered  contentedly  from 
crevice  to  crevice. 

[160] 


TWILIGHT 

"  Sit  down !  "  she  petulantly  commanded. 

There  was  silence. 

"Where  have  you  been?" 

"  To  the  Bay  of  Tai  Wan." 

"Why  did  you  go?" 

The  Breton,  discovering  in  the  crevice  a  little 
finger,  did  not  answer. 

"Oh,  very  well!  I  suppose  you  were  glad.^ 
It  must  have  been  a  great  relief.  I  was  getting 
tired." 

Heedlessly  the  Breton  heard  the  stamp  of  her 
foot  and  contentedly  waited,  though  no  sound  was 
heard  but  its  restless,  impatient  tapping. 

"  Why  did  you  go  away?  " 

"  I  buried  a  man " 

"  Did  that  take  you  all  these  weeks?  " 

«  No— but " 

"  Priest !  "  she  interrupted  impatiently,  "  don't 
give  me  excuses!  Those  veiling  rags  under  which 
men  hide  their  scared  swarm  of  sins !  Bah !  " 

He  looked  happily  expectant  at  the  crevices  just 
over  his  head. 

"Oh,  well,  it  is  immaterial,"  she  continued 
coldly,  carelessly;  "you  are  only  my  instructor. 
Come  and  go  when  you  please.  I  have  sought  your 
learning,  not  you."  Her  foot  tapped  measuredly. 
"  Learning  satisfies  every  craving  of  the  heart, 
man — nothing.  Learning  is  steadfast;  a  friend, 
who  coaxes  away  the  weariness  of  hours,  hueing 
[161] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
dull  days  with  treasures  from  forgotten  time, 
a  wealth  from  the  ends  of  the  earth.  It  has  a  hun- 
dred attributes;  man — not  one.  It  is  a  cloak  for 
chilled  age,  a  balm  for  pain,  an  ointment  for  mis- 
fortune, and  man — Oyah  1  " 

The  Breton  thumbed  contentedly  the  leaves  of 
his  book. 

Presently  the  tapping  of  her  foot  ceased.  He 
heard  the  soft,  sensual  rustle  of  her  garments,  then 
the  wicket  opened. 

The  pink  had  gone  out  of  the  wife's  cheeks ;  her 
face  was  pallid  and  her  long  lustrous  eyes  looked 
larger  yet  from  the  darkness  that  was  under  them. 

The  Breton  glanced  furtively  at  her  as  she  came 
'down  and  sat  with  her  back  to  him. 

"  I  am "  he  ventured,  uncertain. 

"  Yes?  "  she  drawled,  turning  her  head  slightly 
toward  him. 

"  I  have  thought  about  it." 

"Indeed!" 

«  Have  I " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  interrupted  coldly,  "  your  teach- 
ing has  been  quite  delightful;  so  learned." 

"  I  was  away  a  long  time." 

"Yes?" 

"  I  hastened  back." 

"  On  account  of  my  studies,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  apologised. 

"  How  thoughtful  of  you !  " 
[162] 


TWILIGHT 

"  I  could  not " 

"Oh — it  did  not  matter.  No  doubt  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  lessons  you  would  not  have  come." 

Something  in  her  tone  made  him  look  furtively 
at  the  pale  altered  contour  of  her  cheek. 

"Of  course  not!"  she  exclaimed  vexedly. 
"  How  could  I  ask  such  a  thing!  It  would  be  very 
annoying  were  it  not  for  the  instruction !  " 

«  I  enjoy " 

"  Oh,  you  do!  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that? 
Instruct!  Instruct!  Instruct!  I  am  tired  of  it!" 

"  You " 

"  No,  I  don't ! "  she  interrupted  savagely. 
"  What  is  the  good  of  all  this  learning,  all  these 
black  books?  Who  loves  me  any  more  for  it? 
Does  it  add  a  dearer  pink  to  my  cheek?"  She 
turned  her  face  partly  toward  him  and  in  her  voice 
was  a  wave  of  pain.  "  Do  you  think  it  gives  lustre 
to  my  eye  or  music  to  my  words?  "  Her  tones  be- 
came mocking.  "  Do  you  really  think  it  will  puff 

away  wrinkles?  A  cosmetic,  a  tire-woman,  a " 

She  stamped  her  foot  peevishly.  "  I  tell  you,  priest, 
I  will  have  no  more  of  it,  never !  " 

"  Learning  enlightens,"  said  the  Breton  aim- 
lessly, "  as  a  mirror " 

"Oyah!  A  mirror!  So  is  a  tub  of  water  hold- 
ing the  image  of.  the  sun,  but  what  warmth  comes 
from  that  reflection?  I  would  like  you  to  tell  me, 
priest,  with  all  your  learning,  what  there  is  sub- 
[163] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
stantial  in  a  reflected  image?  What  if  learning 
were  the  painting  of  the  world's  ocean  acts,  could 
fish  dwell  in  its  mock  waters?  And  I  would  like 
to  know  if  there  is  the  fragrance  of  one  rose  in  ten 
myriad  miles  of  embroidered  flowers?  " 

He  did  not  reply,  and  again  came  the  half- 
kindly  truce  of  silence,  but  only  half,  for  there  was 
still  the  tapping  of  her  foot  And  how  varied  is 
that  speech!  What  a  world  of  meaning  is  in  the 
tapping  of  a  woman's  foot !  So  the  Breton  listened, 
wonderingly  to  the  thoughts  that  came  from  the 
tap,  tap,  tap  on  the  marble  floor. 

"  Did  you  study?"  he  ventured  hesitatingly. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  responded  with  mock  careless- 
ness, "  and  I  learned  many  things." 

"Yes,"  she  added  bitterly,  "many  things; 
and  in  the  first  place,  I  learned  that  learning  is  like 
dragging  the  sea  for  the  jewels  of  night.  I  also 
learned  that  a  brilliant  cloud  is  easily  scattered 
and  that  the  fairest  sunrise  fades  the  soonest. 
Moreover,"  she  continued  with  increasing  bitter- 
ness, "  I  have  learned  that  trees  blown  away  by 

passing  winds  have  more  branches  than "  She 

stopped.  A  tremor  in  her  voice  was  mastering  her. 
Again  came  the  tapping  of  her  foot:  petulant,  im- 
patient, then  slower,  softer  and  more  uncertain. 

"  But  why  should  I  grieve  ?  "  §he  communed  to 
herself,  her  voice  full  of  weariness,  filled  with  the 
quiver  of  hopeless  pain.  "  No  one  cares  for  me,  no 
[164] 


TWILIGHT 

one  ever  thinks  of  me  caged  here  forever  in  this 
cold,  gilded  chamber,  while  they  move  far  and 
wide,  gay  travellers  on  the  many  rivers  of  life. 
Now  and  then  one  stops  and  with  a  small  laugh 
drops  a  crumb  between  my  bars  and  passes  on. 
They  loiter  through  the  world's  flower-gardens, 
and  I — sometimes  there  comes  swiftly  past  a  whiff 
of  perfume.  They  drain  deep  the  different  wines 
of  pleasure,  while  into  my  tiny  cup,  bar-fastened, 
is  poured  a  few  drops  of  water.  They  move  abroad 
under  the  broad  sunlight,  and  I — moveless  in  this 
wee  shadow.  They  hear  ever  that  great  symphony, 
the  world's  laugh,  and  I — no  one  ever  laughs 
alone.  Their  cheeks  are  stained  by  the  dews  of 
an  hundred  skies,  mine — by  tears.  They  sleep  that 
they  might  hasten  the  morrow,  and  I — to  forget 
to-day.  They  weave  and  I  untangle.  Their 
threads  are  of  a  hundred  hues,  mine — one  sad 
colour.  Untangling!  Untangling!  And  when  will 
it  all  end?  To-day  is  yesterday;  yesterday  as  days 
gone;  to-morrow — oh,  if  I  only  did  not  know!  If 
I  only » 

She  burst  into  tears. 

The  Breton's  lips  parted,  his  eyes  grew  round. 
Presently  he  began  to  realise  that  she  was  sobbing 
almost  at  his  feet.  His  hands  tightened  their  clasp 
on  the  arms  of  the  chair  and  a  pallor  came  into 
his  face.  It  was  difficult  for  him  to  recognise  this 
bitter,  passionate  outburst  in  the  very  joy  of  his 
[165] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
return.  He  never  before  had  seen  a  woman  sob, 
and  during  all  of  the  months  they  had  been  to- 
gether he  had  only  known  her  in  careless,  exu- 
berant happiness,  a  joyousness  almost  divine.  Now 
crying  so  heart-brokenly  before  him,  she  appeared 
as  someone  else.  Grief  in  her  was  more  than  para- 
doxical— it  was  laughter  weeping,  it  was  the  sob- 
bing of  song. 

The  tears  of  the  wife  did  not  ebb  as  tears  often 
do  but  each  sob  seemed  to  gain  greater  force  from 
the  one  gone  before.  Her  face  was  half  hid  in  her 
little  hands,  her  wide  sleeves  had  fallen  away  and 
her  tears  trickling  down  her  bare  arms  fell  two 
jewelled  streams  into  her  lap. 

The  Breton  sat  rigid  in  his  chair  watching  her 
slight  form  shake  with  each  convulsive  sob  but 
he  said  nothing,  did  nothing;  not  even  his  eyes 
moved. 

At  times  her  crying  ceased;  there  was  a  moment 
of  questioned  silence,  then  her  tears  fell  faster  and 
despair  crept  into  her  sobs. 

It  was  during  one  of  these  choked,  silent  hesi- 
tancies that  the  priest  mumbled: 

"  Your  husband  loves  you " 

She  straightened  up.  Her  hands  still  over  her 
eyes  and  a  sob  trembling  on  her  lips. 

"  Your  husband  loves  you,"  repeated  the  Breton 
monotonously.  "  Your  husband " 

She  stamped  her  foot  and  fell  again  to  weeping. 
[166] 


TWILIGHT 

The  Breton  moved  uneasily.  A  tenseness  came 
into  the  lines  about  his  mouth. 

"  Your  husband " 

"What  do  you  know  about  love?"  she  de- 
manded in  the  midst  of  her  sobs. 

And  presently  the  priest  said:  "  It  is  something 
from  God." 

"  Yes !  "  she  drawled  with  mocking,  scornful 
bitterness.  "Indeed I  Why,  I  thought  it  was  just 
a  violet  thrown  in  a  rocky  waste;  a  sunbeam  cast 
upon  the  cold  sea;  dew  dropped  into  the  desert; 
a  bundle  of  burnt  prayers  tossed  upon  the  wind; 

a — a "  She  choked,  turned  her  face  away  and 

again  tears  gathered  on  her  lashes. 

Presently  she  began  to  sob  softly,  full  of  pain. 

"  Don't,"  he  whispered. 

Her  tears  flowed  faster. 

"  Don't,"  he  begged  again. 

"You— don't— care!"  she  sobbed. 

The  Breton  did  not  reply. 

"  I — know — you  don't." 

The  Breton's  lips  moved,  but  he  said  nothing. 


"  Don't." 

"  I  wish — I  were  dead — — " 

"No!" 

"  And  why  shouldn't  I  ?  "  she  demanded  fiercely. 
"  One  is  better  dead  than  one's  heart  strangled  by 
this  silken  scarf.  Why  must  one  live  forever  on 
[167] 


THE  VERMILION    PENCIL 
this  desert,  scanning  each  day  the  sky-line  for  what 
cannot  come?" 

She  picked  restlessly  the  folds  of  her  robe,  her 
tears  falling  upon  her  unrestful  hands. 

"  You  would  not  care,"  she  continued  hopelessly. 
"  You  never  even  asked  if  I  had  been  sick,  and  yet 
I  come  before  you  all  white  with  troubled  pal- 
lor  " 

«  You " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  she  interrupted,  scornfully,  turn- 
ing her  head  and  glancing  coldly  at  him.  "  I  have 
been  more  than  well  and  happy.  Why — I  have 
laughed  and  sung  each  hour  of  the  day  away;  no 
bird  in  all  the  park  has  been  gayer  than  I,  and  my 
cheeks?  Oh,  I  whitened  them;  they  became  so 
ruddy.  Oh,  yes,  how  happy,  how  happy " 

She  was  looking  at  the  Breton,  pleading,  tearful. 

"  Don't  you  know,"  she  begged,  "  don't  you 
know  that  I  have  not  laughed  nor  sung  all  these 
weeks?  No  caged  bird  ever — ever — I  think  you 
would  have  cared  if  you  could  have  seen  me  cower- 
ing now  in  one  corner,  now  in  another;  counting 
the  moments  for  the  coming  of  day,  then  longing 
for  night.  And  oh,  how  ill  I  have  been ;  now  burn- 
ing with  fever,  then  cold,  chilling.  I  did  not  know 
what  had  happened:  one  little  thought  parching 
my  lips,  making  my  heart  shrink  and  draw  high 
into  my  throat.  A  noise  like  a  foot-fall  would 
make  it  beat  so  painfully  I  could  not  breathe,  and 
[168] 


TWILIGHT 

when  I  heard  someone  coming,  I  trembled  all  over. 
I  grew  feverish,  then  cold,  a  dimness  would  come 
over  my  eyes.  All  day  and  night  I  cried  for  tardy 
sleep — and  when  one  begs  for  sleep  is  it  not  a 
wish  for  death?  Oh,  if  you  only  knew,"  she  cried, 
striking  the  palms  of  her  little  hands  passionately 
together.  "If  you  only  knew !  "  She  rose  from  her 
stool  and  stood  looking  at  him. 

The  Breton  stood  up,  as  she  came  close  to  him, 
her  hands  clasped  on  her  breast,  her  eyes  question- 
ing, beseeching.  He  looked  down  at  her  for  a 
moment,  then  raising  his  head,  closed  his  eyes. 

She  stepped  nearer,  quivering,  hesitant. 

"  Tell  me  you  will  not  go  away  again." 

The  Breton  did  not  answer. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  whispered,  moving  closer  so  that 
their  robes  touched  and  she  felt  him  tremble. 

Through  the  open  windows  came  the  grumble 
of  the  surrounding  city.  All  else  was  still;  the  birds 
in  the  cages  above  them  and  the  birds  in  the  park 
without.  Man  was  yet  in  the  midst  of  his  toil 
and  Nature  still  somnolent  in  the  afternoon 
heat. 

"Promise  me?"  She  lifted  her  clasped  hands 
and  rested  them  lightly  on  his  bosom. 

The  thrushes  in  the  bamboo  cages  above  them 

began  to  flutter,  and  in  the  park  the  calling  of 

pheasants  was  heard.  With  the  breath  of  evening 

larks,  pehlings,  birds  of  a  hundred  spirits  came 

[169] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
forth  from  their  hidings.  The  hum  of  the  city 
grew  less  and  less. 

Neither  had  moved. 

The  shadow  of  the  feathery  bamboo  that  grew 
by  the  fish-pond  without  came  softly  in  through 
the  open  shell-latticed  window;  furtively  it  crept 
across  the  floor,  slowly  it  ascended  the  lacquered 
wall  and — vanished. 

After  a  while  the  sun's  rays  were  gone  and  a 
yellow  light  diffused  through  the  room,  burnished 
anew  its  golden  fretwork.  An  orange-saffron 
glimmer  lingered  for  a  few  moments,  then  came 
the  fleeting  rose  blush  of  twilight,  caressingly  ting- 
ing the  paled  faces  of  the  Breton  and  the  wife 
standing  so  still  and  so  silent  in  its  parting  light. 

Gently  as  silken  floss  is  wafted  upward  by  a 
breath  so  the  little  hands  of  the  wife  stole  from 
the  Breton's  bosom  to  his  shoulders. 

And  when  the  songs  of  the  birds  in  the  park 
had  ceased;  when  only  the  quarrelling  of  the  white- 
headed  crows  was  heard;  when  the  hum  from  the 
city  had  died  away;  when  silence  with  dusk  had 
closed  around  them  the  hands  of  the  wife  crept 
lightly  around  the  Breton's  neck.  Her  lips  parted, 
her  eyes,  tearful,  yet  happy,  looked  up  into  his 
face. 

Dusk  deepened. 

Heavily  the  Breton  lifted  his  hands,   resting 
them  gently  but  firmly  upon  her  arms, 
[170] 


TWILIGHT 

A  joyous  flush  spread  over  her  face  and  neck; 
her  lips  quivered  as  if  to  smile  or  burst  into  joyful 
tears ;  she  laid  her  cheek  lightly  on  his  bosom.  The 
Breton's  fingers  closed  around  her  wrists;  trem- 
bling, with  difficulty  he  took  them  from  his 
shoulders. 

Gently  he  put  her  away  from  him  and  as  he 
crossed  the  room  he  heard  a  little  moan,  also  the 
crinkling  fall  of  silk. 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 
NIGHT 

THE  Breton  went  calmly  out  of  the  Hall 
of  Guests  and  came  unconcernedly  down 
the  Lion  Steps  into  the  Park  as  though 
without  thought  or  in  profound  meditation.    His 
head   was   thrown   slightly   back   and   his   hands 
hung  loosely  by  his  side.  Softly  he  went  into  the 
dusk  as  though  watching  the  crows  and  herons 
still  unsettled  in  the  darkened  domes  of  the  great 
trees. 

Dusk  was  deepening  into  night  as  he  passed  out 
the  gateway  and  the  streets  were  filled  with  their 
night  streams  of  hurrying  men.  The  stores  had 
closed,  street  stalls  were  leaving.  The  seal  cutter 
that  sat  near  the  gate  and  always  welcomed  him, 
had  departed,  as  had  his  neighbour,  the  money- 
'  changer,  who  had  gone  before  dusk  with  his 
strings  of  cash.  A  short  way  up  the  street  a  fuss- 
ing cook  stopped  his  grumbling  to  offer  him  a  cake ; 
a  fortune  teller  peered  momentarily  into  his  face, 
then  jumped  dramatically  to  one  side".  Itinerant 
barbers,  apothecaries,  shoemakers,  dentists,  story- 
tellers, geomancers,  astrologers  and  book-sellers 


NIGHT 

joked  and  reviled  as  he  passed  them  in  their  pack- 
ing-up  and  counting  of  the  profits  of  the  day. 
Beggars  innumerable  and  hucksters  with  trays 
slung  over  their  shoulders,  with  rattles  and  wail- 
ing whistles,  jostled  against  him.  Unresistingly, 
unconscious  of  these  men  and  their  noises,  he  was 
carried  along  in  this  dusk-stream  through  the  tor- 
tuous channels  of  Yingching. 

Sometimes  with  jest  they  brushed  roughly 
against  him,  peered  up  into  his  face,  only  to  draw 
hastily  away  with  a  look  of  silent  fear.  Some- 
times a  swiftly  borne  mandarin's  chair  came  by 
him  and  the  attendants  would  thrust  him  brutally 
against  the  walls  or  into  a  corner.  A  line  of  sing- 
ing bonzes,  modulating  their  tones  by  the  sound 
of  wooden  cymbals  and  mingling  their  melancholy 
chant  with  the  evening  noises  carried  him  along 
with  them. 

In  and  through  the  twisting  streets  the  monks 
took  him  until  they  vanished,  and  another  crowd 
shoved  him  along  through  the  night.  Only  here 
and  there  were  lights  in  front  of  tea-houses,  from 
which  came  jests  and  songs  and  the  laughter 
tinkling  of  wine  cups.  In  front  of  one  of  these 
several  sedans  had  stopped  and  blocked  the  way. 
The  crowd  growled  and  cursed  and  surging  for- 
ward, was  forcing  the  Breton  in  front  of  them, 
when  from  one  of  the  chairs  a  dainty  singing-girl 
stepped  out.  This  dusk  crowd,  at  the  sight  of  her, 
[173] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

grew  licentious  in  a  moment  and  there  rose  a  tumult 
of  comments.  The  girl  wavered,  almost  terror- 
stricken,  at  this  mob  of  men.  She  peered  around 
for  a  place  to  flee,  but  they  were  all  around  her 
and  the  way  to  the  tea-house  was  closed.  The  wit 
of  the  crowd  grew  more  violent  when  the  girl, 
looking  up,  saw  the  Breton  standing  silently  beside 
her.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated,  then  lifted  up 
her  arms  to  him  like  a  child  seeking  protection 
and  rested  them  on  his  bosom.  He  looked  down 
at  her  unconcernedly,  while  the  crowd  jeered  as 
only  a  Chinese  crowd  can  do  and  poured  upon 
him  and  the  little  singing-girl  clinging  for  protec- 
tion their  storm  of  lascivious  wit. 

Suddenly  those  that  stood  nearest  the  Breton 
saw  him  shudder,  then  sway,  as  if  to  fall.  He  stag- 
gered back  among  the  crowd  as  one  choking  for  a 
breath  of  fresh  air;  he  forced  his  way  through 
them,  then  moved  listlessly  along  through  the  half- 
vacant  street. 

Again  the  dusk  crowd  caught  up  with  him  and 
hurried  him  along  the  Street  of  the  Marble  Portal, 
thence  into  the  broad  Avenue  of  Peace,  which 
leads  to  the  Gate  of  Eternal  Rest,  the  last  of  the 
city  gates  to  be  closed.  These  men,  who  but  a 
moment  before  had  been  aburst  with  jest,  hastened 
silently  on. 

Down  the  street  was  heard  the  sound  of 
wedding  music — a  bride  happy  and  smiling 
[174] 


NIGHT 

was  being  carried  with  her  trosseau  to  the 
home  of  the  groom.  The  crowd  was  once  more 
full  of  laughter  and  jest,  for  no  people  so  love  to 
mock  the  misfortunes  or  cajole  the  vanity  of  others 
as  the  people  of  this  old  land.  None  are  more 
skilful  in  its  use  and  abuse.  They  are  at  it  during 
all  hours  and  in  all  places  where  men  or  women 
congregate;  in  markets,  streets,  and  temples,  they 
hurl  it  from  window  to  window;  and  on  the  boats 
in  the  river  old  women  are  perched  on  the  high 
poops  with  no  other  purpose  than  to  revjle  and 
abuse.  Their  fund  is  inexhaustible;  they  can  rail 
most  viciously  at  one  another,  foam  with  vitupera- 
tions, then  part  as  friendly  as  they  met. 

So  once  more  the  Breton,  in  the  half  stupor  of 
his  terrible  sorrow,  was  forced  to  listen  to  lascivious 
and  brutal  jests  hurled  so  relentlessly  upon  one 
perhaps  as  beautiful  and — and 

The  crowd  forced  the  Breton  against  the  wall. 
Flaring  torches  and  swaying  lanterns  could  now 
be  seen  winding  toward  them.  The  head  of  the 
procession  came  by — an  old  man  bearing  a  large 
gold-brocaded  umbrella,  which  he  held  over  the 
bride  as  she  entered  and  left  the  sedan.'  Behind 
him  came  men  bearing  great  lanterns  inscribed  with 
propitiatory  sentences:  "May  the  phoenix  sing 
harmoniously  " — another  way  of  wishing  that  the 
bride  will  give  birth  to  a  son.  As  the  crowd  de- 
ciphered these  various  illumined  wishes,  they  com- 
[175] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
merited  upon  them  in  sarcasm  which  cannot  be 
uttered.  The  musicians  who  followed  did  their 
utmost  to  drown  the  abuse  heaped  upon  them,  as 
did  the  bearers  of  halberds,  dragon  heads,  titular 
flags,  and  honorary  tablets,  denoting  the  honours 
and  rank  of  the  bride's  father,  but  there  was  no 
compassion  in  the  crowd  as  they  assailed  with  their 
vituperation  these  unfortunate  symbols  of  human 
vanity. 

Parties  of  young  lads,  fantastically  dressed, 
tripped,,  gaily  by  playing  on  drums  and  flutes,  fol- 
lowed by  bearers  arrayed  in  red  robes  and  burdened 
under  many  vermilion-lacquered  boxes  containing 
the  bride's  trosseau.  The  contents  of  these  boxes 
came  in  for  a  new  outburst  of  lecherous  jest.  Men 
turned  to  one  another  and  those  nearest  the  Breton 
surrounded  him  and  delivered  grave  conjectures 
as  to  what  they  contained — doubts  that  were 
brutal. 

The  bride  approached,  securely  locked  in  her 
red  and  gold  sedan,  surrounded  by  quivering, 
silken  lanterns.  The  acme  of  the  crowd's  pleasure 
was  now  reached  and  their  licentiousness  ended  in  a 
final  outburst.  They  jested  upon  everything  ap- 
pertaining to  a  bride  or  a  woman,  from  the  size 
of  her  feet  to  the  possibilities  of  her  extravagances. 
They  took  a  maternal  interest  in  her,  and  gravely 
advised  her  as  to  what  to  do  upon  this  night. 
Nothing  had  been  left  unsaid  when  the  wedding 
[176] 


NIGHT 

procession  vanished  in  the  darkness  of  the  narrow 
streets. 

Silent,  even  sombre,  became  the  crowd  as  it 
hastened  with  the  Breton  toward  the  Gate  of 
Eternal  Rest  under  whose  shadowy  portals  soldiers 
were  drawn  up  preparatory  to  closing  the  gates 
for  the  night  The  crowd  hurried  through  and, 
once  beyond  the  walls,  vanished,  dispersing  almost 
instantly  in  the  black  labyrinth  of  the  suburbs. 

The  Breton  went  on  alone,  his  manner  un- 
changed by  the  vanishing  of  those  that  had  but  a 
moment  before  elbowed  and  jostled  him  along 
through  the  streets.  In  and  out,  winding,  turning, 
twisting  through  this  black  network,  he  threaded 
his  way.  Through  narrow  passages,  up  and  down 
hollow  worn  stairs,  under  gloom-weighted  portals, 
along  the  edges  of  canals  and  over  bridges  that 
spanned  them,  he  went  carelessly  along,  neither 
faltering  nor  stumbling. 

When  he  came  to  the  north  entrance  of  the  Mis- 
sion Compound  he  stopped  for  the  first  time.  He 
stood  for  a  moment,  unloosened  the  neck  of  his 
robe,  then  went  slowly  along  the  wall  until  he  came 
to  the  northwest  corner;  turning,  he  followed  the 
western  side  until  he  passed  out  into  the  open  space 
lying  between  the  Mission  and  the  river.  Again 
he  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  crossed  to  the 
river's  overhanging  bank  where  its  black  waters 
swirled  straight  down  below  his  feet, 
[177] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

All  around  him  brooded  silent  night.  But 
from  the  flower-boats  down  the  river  came  the 
faint  echo  of  laughter  and  songs  and  music. 
From  the  sampans  and  junks  anchored  across  the 
river  came  an  occasional  volley  of  crackers  by 
which  the  simple  boatman  warned  the  devils  of 
the  night  that  he  was  still  alert.  Sometimes  was 
heard  from  these  rocking  boats  a  child's  fretful 
cry.  As  night  wore  on  the  noises  of  rev- 
elry ceased.  The  boatmen  and  the  night  devils 
slept  in  peace  and  the  children's  cries  were 
hushed. 

The  world  was  asleep.  No  sounds  were  heard 
but  what  came  from  the  river  at  the  Breton's  feet, 
for  when  the  insect  hum  of  man  was  stilled  and  a 
nation  of  them  slept  on  its  banks  this  river  com- 
muned aloud  and  to  those  that  sought  it  there  was 
peace,  even  enticement  in  its  coaxing,  as  well  as 
terror. 

The  Breton  leaned  perilously  over  this  compas- 
sionate, sweet-voiced  river  upon  which  only  the 
day  before  he  had  looked  impatiently  as  he  waited 
his  cumbersome  sea-junk  to  make  headway  against 
its  flood.  Eagerly  had  he  watched  for  the  first 
sight  of  the  Sea-Guarding  Tower  on  the  north 
wall,  then  for  the  two  slender  pagodas,  which  are 
the  city's  masts. 

And  this  was  the  end. 

At  last  he  sought  this  river  over  whose  bosom 
[178] 


NIGHT 

he  had  dreamed  so  long  and  so  happily.  But  he 
had  come  to  it  now  an  outcast;  a  priest  that  had 
repudiated  his  God  and  defiled  his  sacred  brother- 
hood; a  man  that  had  sinned — a  man — yes — 
again  he  hears  her  fall;  again  he  hears  the  little 
moan  that  broke  from  her  lips;  again  he  sees  her 
lying  as  dead  in  the  twilight.  It  is  he  that  did 
this 

The  Breton  mechanically  took  off  his  rosary 
and  crucifix  and  dropped  them  into  the  waters. 
He  drew  himself  up,  then  hesitated.  Presently  his 
chin  sank  to  his  bosom  and  he  stood  motionless 
on  the  very  brink  of  this  strange  River  of  Pearls, 
which  has  never  been  known  to  smile  since  man- 
kind came  to  dwell  on  its  banks,  other  than  to  those 
that  sought  it  in  the  night,  then  a  smile  came  from 
its  murky  depths  and  it  was  illumined  with  more 
delicate  traceries  than  are  reflected  from  the  fret- 
work of  heaven. 

To  those  that  are  happy  and  look  upon  it  in 
the  sunlight,  this  melancholy  river  is  forever  som- 
brously  brooding;  its  bosom  is  an  abyss  and  its 
voice  that  of  grief.  But  for  those  that  seek  it,  re- 
pose is  found  there,  and  in  its  dreadful  monologue 
contentedness,  a  paradox  only  understood  by  those 
whose  hearts,  as  its  bosom,  are  aflow  with  tears. 
'-.  Those  listening  forget,  and  plans  are  not  made 
with  the  sound  of  its  voice  in  the  ear.  Innumerable 
have  been  the  weary  pilgrims  that  have  questioned 
[179] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
and  have  been  pleased  with  its  answer;  more  have 
sought  than  have  fled  from  it  and  its  voice  has 
been  the  rarest  of  music  to  them;  its  bosom  the 
kindest.  Holding  its  arms  open  to  him,  entreating, 
enticing  so  gently,  this  dreadful  yet  kindly  river 
flowed  on  by  the  Breton  to  the  sea. 

Night  was  passing.  The  golden-jetted  horologue 
of  Eternity  turned  slowly.  No  moon  came  up,  but 
in  endless  succession  rose  the  constellations. 
Majestically  these  bright  markers  of  unending 
Time  crossed  the  firmament  and  with  infinite  gran- 
deur, ignorant  of  the  riot  of  man,  a  pulse  beat  went 
through  the  universe. 

Day  approached. 

A  fog  came  up  the  river  and  the  stars  were  seen 
no  more.  The  Breton  still  stood  erect  upon  the 
bank;  his  eyes  peered  into  the  waters  below  him; 
his  hands  still  hung  listlessly  by  his  side. 

Suddenly  there  rose  from  the  Mission  Com- 
pound, reverberant  in  the  still  air  of  dawn,  those 
stately  cadences,  which  are  the  chant  of  a  world's 
grief. 

"Stabat  Mater  dolorosa, 
Juxta  crucem  lacrymosa, 
Dum  pendebat  filius, 
Contristatem  et  dolentem, 
Pertransivit  gladius.  " 

The  priest  tottered. 

From  across  the  river  sounded  the  halloo  of  a 
[iSo] 


NIGHT 

boatman.  This  was  echoed  and  re-echoed   from 
different  parts.  The  riverside  had  awakened. 

"  Fac  me  cruce  custodiri, 
Morte  Christi  praemunire, 
Confoveri  gratia, 
Quando —  " 

The  Breton  shuddered — he  also  had  awakened. 


[181] 


BOOK  IV.  THE  NEMESIS  OF  FATE 


CHAPTER  ONE 

THE    WANDERER 

WITH  thoughtful,  tireless  touch,  the  Un- 
known nursed  the  Breton  through  the 
fever  that  had  fastened  upon  him  the 
night  he  had  cast  aside  the  wife  of  Tai  Lin  and 
had  brutally  left  her  lying  unconscious  on  the 
floor  in  the  dusk  of  that  evening  when  she  had 
so  trustingly  laid  upon  his  bosom  and  had  given 
over  to  him  her  love  and  her  life  and  her 
honour.  Sleepless,  the  Unknown  had  nursed 
him  as  he  struggled  to  hurl  himself  into  the 
river  that  still  flowed  coaxingly  at  his  feet. 
Sleepless  he  had  knelt  beside  him  when  he 
lay  in  a  stupor,  his  face  pallid  and  covered  with  a 
cold  sweat;  sleepless  he  had  listened  to  him  mut- 
tering in  slow,  indistinct  utterance,  insistent  as  the 
dripping  of  the  Water  Clock,  "I  have  sinned;  I 
have  sinned;  I  have  sinned." 

The  Unknown  had  roughly  driven  the  other 
priests  from  the  Breton's  chamber  on  the  day  they 
had  brought  him  from  the  river's  bank,  even 
after  he  became  convalescent  and  was  moved  out 
into  the  shadowy  cloisters,  the  Unknown  still 
watched  sternly  and  silently  over  him,  so  that  dur- 
[185] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL  r 
ing  those  reluctant  days  of  the  Breton's  recovery, 
neither  the  priests  nor  the  communicants,  contin- 
ually coming  and  going,  heard  this  silence  broken 
nor  knew  the  cause  of  the  Breton's  sickness.  They 
glanced  compassionately  at  his  fever-worn  figure, 
motionless  other  than  his  fingers,  which  were  ever 
nervously  creasing,  smoothing,  caressing  a  fold 
in  his  robe.  They  noticed  that  his  eyes  looked  end- 
lessly somewhere,  and  that  a  stony  calmness,  like 
a  veil,  clung  to  his  face.  But  their  glances,  as  they 
passed  and  repassed,  were  ever  as  thoughtless  as 
they  were  momentary.  It  was  not  for  them  to 
conjecture  the  struggle  waging  in  the  still  form 
before  them;  that  unseen  volcanic  combat  was  hid- 
den by  illimitable  distance. 

When  the  Breton  was  able  to  leave  the  Mission 
he  accompanied  the  Unknown  once  more  on  his 
visitations  through  the  city.  These  visits  took 
them  to  that  part  of  Yingching  lying  north  of  the 
Examination  Grounds,  and  when  they  returned 
to  the  Mission  they  made  a  short  cut  through  these 
ancient  tourney  grounds  where  multitudes  have, 
during  these  thousand  years  contended  and  lost 
and  won  as  Fate  has  willed.  Going  out  by  the 
South  Gate  they  turn  westward  into  the  short 
Street  of  the  Martial  Dragon,  at  the  end  of  which 
stands  the  Tower  of  the  Water  Clock,  where  this 
time-gnawed  clepsydra  of  Yingching  drips,  drips, 
drips,  the  minutes  of  unnumbered  years. 
[186] 


THE   WANDERER 

How  often  the  Breton  had  come  to  this  comfort- 
ing tower  to  dream  in  the  shadows  of  its  imper- 
turbable calm,  happier  than  any  in  the  bottomless 
pool  of  millions,  that  swirled  around  him,  the 
Unknown  did  not  know.  But  as  he  passed  the 
winding  stairs,  the  Breton  stopped,  looked  up,  and 
drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"  Come,  my  son,  we  must  go  on,"  said  the  Un- 
known, gently  taking  him  by  the  arm. 

The  Breton  looked  dully  at  him  for  a  moment, 
then  seizing  his  hand  pressed  it  convulsively  to  his 
heart. 

"No,  no,  my  father,"  he  cried,  bursting  into 
sobs.  "  I  cannot  go." 

So  it  came  about  in  this  manner  that  each  day 
the  Unknown  left  the  Breton  at  the  Stairs  of  the 
Water  Clock  and  hastened  on  his  way  alone  to 
the  Great  Peace  Gate,  and  it  was  never  until 
night  that  the  Breton  came  silently  to  his  cham- 
ber. 

Once  when  they  came  to  the  Tower  of  the 
Water  Clock,  they  stopped  as  usual  but  the  Un- 
known stood  for  a  long  time  gazing  intently,  ques- 
tioningly  at  the  Breton,  then  suddenly  he  put  his 
arms  around  him,  pressed  him  fervently  to  his 
heart,  kissing  him  repeatedly  on  both  cheeks,  while 
tears  streamed  down  the  seams  in  his  face. 

"  My  son,"  he  cried  brokenly,  "  my  son,"  and 
he  wept  as  only  an  old  man  can. 
[187] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Yes,"  he  said  finally,  his  voice  again  calm,  "  I 
leave  you,  my  son,  to  God." 

He  kissed  the  Breton  again  and  hastened  toward 
the  Great  Peace  Gate. 

For  some  moments  the  Breton  stood  by  the 
winding  stairs  of  the  Water  Tower,  then 
walked  hastily  south,  winding,  turning,  doubling, 
twisting  through  a  maze  of  narrow  alleys  until 
he  came  to  the  Street  of  Pearls.  Once  on  this 
thoroughfare  he  hastened  on  until  he  came  near  to 
where  the  street  ended  at  the  granite  Gate  of  Tai 
Lin's  park.  Without  hesitation  he  turned  into  an 
open  guardhouse  recessed  on  the  right  of  the 
street  and  leaning  against  one  of  the  pillars  fixed 
his  gaze  upon  the  gateway,  as  immovable  as  the 
pillar  itself — which  was  of  stone. 

The  hour  of  dusk  was  falling.  Shopkeepers 
came  out  of  their  stores  and  looked  in  vain  for  a 
customer.  Reluctantly  they  took  in  their  wares  and 
put  up  their  shutters.  The  itinerant  booths  were 
gotten  ready  and  were  being  taken  home  on  the 
backs  of  their  owners. 

On  the  side  of  the  street  opposite  the  guard- 
house and  nearer  the  Gateway  a  fortune-teller 
stopped  suddenly  in  his  packing  and  beckoned 
mysteriously  to  his  neighbour,  a  cook. 

"  Again  1  "  he  whispered  hoarsely  in  the  cook's 
ear. 

"Again?  Again?  What  again?  Rice " 

[188] 


THE   WANDERER 

"Did  I  not  prognosticate?" 

«  Pork " 

"  Look !  Again  he  is  there !  "  and  the  fortune- 
teller whirled  the  cook  around  and,  half  crouching, 
pointed  cautiously  to  the  guardhouse. 

"  So  he  is !  So  he  is !  "  cried  the  cook. 

"  Did  I  not  foretell  it?  Master  cook,  did  I  not 
prognosticate?  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  fact,"  answered  the  cook  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Cook,"  continued  the  fortune-teller  in  mystic- 
triumphant  tones,  "  I  see  everything,  hear  every- 
thing, know  everything.  Now,  master  cook,  let  me 
do  you  a  good  turn;  it  will  only  cost " 

"  But,"  suddenly  exclaimed  the  cook,  brighten- 
ing, "  he  has  been  there  in  that  fashion  toward 
night-cooking  for  nearly  two  full  moons." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,  but  would  he  have  been 
there  if  it  had  not  been  for  my  prognostications?  " 

"  That  may  be,  that  may  be,"  answered  the 
cook,  scratching  his  head. 

"  Master  cook,  let  me  prognosticate  you.  It  will 
only  cost " 

"  No,"  interrupted  the  cook  abruptly.  "  But," 
he  hesitated,  "  I  don't  like  that  influence  every  day 
just  at  my  night-cooking." 

"  It  is  very  bad,"  interjected  the  fortune-teller, 
shaking  his  head  ruefully.  "  I  would  not  be  you 
for  all  the  cash  of  Ho." 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  the  cook  hastily. 
"  Tell  me,  master,  tell  me." 

The  fortune-teller  jumped  back  dramatically 
and  threw  up  his  hands.  "  I  am  overwhelmed,"  he 
cried  in  lofty  injured  tones,  "  dumb,  speechless,  a 
dying  phoenix." 

The  cook  scratched  his  head  and  looked  sheep- 
ishly at  him. 

"  Master  cook,"  the  fortune-teller  continued  in 
the  same  severe  voice,  "  you  pretend  to  be  a  mer- 
chant, and  yet  you  are  unable  to  distinguish  great 
profits  from  a  fly's  head.  Is  it  not  known  among 
honourable  merchants  that  just  scales  and  full 
measures  injure  no  man  ?  I  am  pained  I  Good- 
bye, master  cook."  The  fortune-teller  began  to 
wrap  up  his  paraphernalia. 

The  cook  scratched  his  head. 

"  Master  cook,  I  leave  you  with  a  pitying  heart 
—farewell." 

"What  have  I  done?  What  have  I  done?" 
cried  the  cook,  coming  hastily  to  his  side. 

"  What  have  you  done !  "  repeated  the  fortune- 
teller scornfully.  "  What  have  you  done  but  throw 
out  the  refuse,  the  burnt  scraps,  the  very  swill  of 
your  inquisitiveness  to  lure  from  me  the  peculiar 
gems  of  my  knowledge — my  pearly  prognosti- 
cations !  " 

"  But  what  have  I  done?  "  exclaimed  the  cook 
perplexedly. 

[190] 


THE   WANDERER 

"  Can  you  get  rice  without  planting?  Chickens 
without  eggs?  Heat  without  fire?  Fire  without 
fuel?  Prognostications  without  incentives?"  de- 
manded the  fortune-teller  haughtily. 

"But  what  threatens  me?  What  threatens 
me  ?  "  cried  the  cook  impatiently. 

"  Master  cook,"  said  the  fortune-teller,  solemnly 
though  relentingly,  "  I  should  be  lenient  with  you; 
that  you  do  not  understand  the  incomprehensible 
is  not  your  fault.  You  are  a  cook,  I  alone  am  the 
scholar.  Cook,  I  pity  you;  to  me  only  is  apparent 
the  disaster  overpending.  I  will  aid  you." 

"  Do,  master,  do." 

"  Before  prognosticating,  cook,  I  must  have 
four  rice-cakes,  cooked  well  in  oil,  and  two  pieces 
of  pork " 

"  Too  much!  master  fortune-teller,  too  much  I  " 
cried  the  cook,  backing  off  in  amazement. 

"  Cook,  I  salute  thee !  To-night  empty  your  oil 
into  the  street;  scatter  your  flour  upon  the  night- 
winds — you  will  need  them  no  more.  Farewell, 
there  comes  a  day  when  every  tumour  must  be 
punctured.  Listen  now  to  my  last  prognostication : 
Do  not  waste  your  wife's  cash  in  mock-money.  It 
will  not  avail  you."  The  fortune-teller  moved 
slowly  away. 

"  Master  fortune-teller !  Master  fortune- 
teller!" 

"What  is  it,  unfortunate  man?" 
[191] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  I  will  give  you  one  rice-cake  and  one  piece 
of  fat  pork." 

"  Does  one  grain  of  planted  rice  produce  as 
much  as  four?  " 

"  I  am  a  poor  man." 

"  Must  not  the  poor  avert  their  fate  as  well  as 
the  rich?" 

"  I  will  give  you  two  rice-cakes  and  one  piece  of 
lean  pork." 

"  You  are  indeed  a  poor  man,"  commented  the 
fortune-teller  sadly,  "  and  unfortunate.  Yes,  rny 
compassion  pleads  for  you.  I  will  prognosticate. 
Yes,  for  two  cakes,  two  fat  pieces  of  pork,  and  a 
bowl  of  kale." 

"  Too  much !  Too  much !  "  cried  the  cook  despe- 
rately. "  I  will  give  you  the  cakes  and  the  pork, 
no  more !  no  more !  " 

For  some  moments  the  fortune-teller  looked 
seriously  up  at  the  heavens. 

"  Let  it  be,"  he  finally  mumbled  with  com- 
passion, "  but  mark  you,  master  cook,  the  depth 
of  my  benevolence !  " 

When  the  cook  had  provided  him  with  rice- 
cakes  and  two  squares  of  fat  pork  he  squatted  down 
upon  his  heels  and  munched  contentedly,  while  the 
cook  crouched  by  his  side  and  waited.  Now  and 
then  the  fortune-teller  would  stretch  his  neck  and 
peer  mysteriously  through  the  gathering  twilight 
at  the  tall  figure  standing  so  still  beside  the  stone 
[192] 


THE  WANDERER 

pillar  of  the  guardhouse,  and  the  cook  at  the  same 
time  stretched  his  neck  and  peered  fearfully 
through  the  shadows. 

After  the  fortune-teller  finished  his  cakes  and 
pork  he  drew  from  his  paraphernalia  a  small- 
bowled  pipe.  When  he  had  taken  a  few  puffs,  he 
asked  in  a  low  voice : 

"What  do  you  see,  cook?" 

"He  is  still  there,"  answered  the  cook  in  a 
whisper. 

"What  else  do  you  see?" 

"  He  stares  like  a  big-eyed  owl." 

"What  is  an  owl?" 

"  A  bird  of  bad  omen." 

"  What  else  do  you  know?  " 

"  That  he  never  turns  his  round  eyes  away  from 
the  gate  of  Tai  Lin." 

"What  is  a  gateway?" 

"  It  is  the  coming  in  and  going  out." 

"  How  do  you  write  the  characters  Yen 
Wang?" 

The  cook  moved  closer  to  the  fortune-teller. 
"  Is  it  that?  "  he  asked  hoarsely. 

"  Did  you  not  see  him  when  he  commenced  to 
come  many  moons  ago?  " 

"  Yes,  master,  yes." 

"  Was  he  not  as  stalwart  as  the  young  bullock 
of  Heungshan  ?  " 

"  Yes,  master " 

[193] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  And  now  he  is  like  a  spectre,  a  troubled  ghost 
whose  Feng  Shui  has  been  ruined." 

"  It  is  true,  master,  it  is  true !  " 

"  Have  you  not  noticed,"  continued  the  fortune- 
teller in  tones  that  made  the  cook  huddle  closer  to 
him,  "  that  since  he  came  you  have  drowsed  and 
drowsed  and  been  careless  of  your  business?  " 

"It  is  true!  It  is  true!" 

"  Have  you  not  noticed  that  when  his  fingers 
twitch,  men  shun  you  ?  " 

"  Many  men  have  passed  me  by,  master,  many 
have  passed  me  by!  " 

"  Have  you  not  noticed  when  his  bosom  heaves 
out  you  have  a  sadness  in  your  chest?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"He  has  the  appearance  of  a  Western-sea 
man!" 

"What!" 

"A  foreign  devil.  Have  you  seen  his  eyes? 
They  are  blue!" 

"Blue?  master,  blue?" 

"  If  he  should  look  into  your  boiling  oil,  it 
would  go  up  in  flame ;  if  he  should  look  into  your 
flour,  it  would  frisk  with  weevils;  if  he  should 
look  into  your  meat,  lo!  there  would  be  nothing 
but  maggots,  and  if  he  should  peer  into  your  heart 
— I  tremble." 

The  cook  crouched  closer  to  him. 

i(  Cook,  how  is  the  Idol  of  Yang  Ssii  made?" 
[i94] 


THE   WANDERER 

"  By  three  swings  of  the  axe,  master." 

"How  is  the  Idol  of  Yen  Wang  made?" 

"  I  know  not,  I  know  not." 

"  It  is  carved  by  tears,  cook,  as  rocks  are  cut  by 
mountain's  rain.  Its  visage  is  of  the  terriblest  sor- 
row; the  height  of  heaven,  the  depth  of  the  sea 
cannot  encompass  it." 

The  fortune-teller  leaned  closer  to  the  cook  and 
whispered  hoarsely  in  his  ear :  "  He  has  the  face 
of  Yen  Wang." 

"I  feel  that  sadness!  I  feel  that  sadness!" 
cried  the  cook,  pulling  open  the  neck  of  his 
blouse. 

The  fortune-teller  looked  at  him  pityingly,  then 
up  at  the  darkening  sky  and  remained  contempla- 
tive for  some  time. 

"  Cook,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  there  are  some 
things  that  are  known  and  some  things  that  are 
not.  From  the  things  that  are  known  we  learn 
concerning  the  things  that  are  not,  but  this  is  the 
task  of  the  wise.  Now  it  is  known  that  heaven  is 
round  and  the  earth  square;  that  the  stars  are 
shining  characters  in  the  Book  of  Fate,  and  eclipses 
are  dragon  feasts.  Moreover,  it  is  known  that 
when  tigers  plunge  into  the  sea  they  become  sharks, 
and  sparrows  falling  into  the  water  are  changed 
into  oysters.  It  is  also  known  to  those  that  are 
learned  that  it  is  the  nature  of  water  to  run  down- 
ward; the  nature  of  fire  to  flame  upward;  the 
[195] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
nature  of  wood  to  be  either  crooked  or  straight; 
the  nature  of  metals  to  be  pliable  and  subject  to 
change.  In  addition  to  this,  cook,  it  is  known  to 
scholars  that  there  are  five  elements,  five  planets, 
five  great  mountain  ranges  on  the  earth,  five  seas, 
five  senses,  five  musical  tones,  five  kinds  of  coffins, 
five  kinds  of  torture,  five  ways  to  die  in,  and  five 
times  in  the  last  five  minutes  has  the  spectre  in  the 
guardhouse  clenched  his  hands. 

"  Now,  cook,  what  is  known  to  us,  especially 
wise,  is  that  the  clouds  are  dragons  and  the  winds 
tigers;  mind  is  the  mother,  matter  the  child.  If 
the  mother  summons  the  child,  will  it  dare  dis- 
obey? Those  that,  like  myself,  can  expel  the  spirit 
of  death,  must  summon  the  spirits  of  the  five  ele- 
ments, and  who  would  conquer  death  must 
obtain  the  influence  of  the  five  planets.  When  this 
is  done,  Ying  and  Yang  can  be  controlled;  winds 
and  clouds  are  gathered  into  the  palm  of  the 
hand;  mountains  and  hills  torn  up  by  the  roots, 
while  seas  and  rivers  can  be  made  to  spring  out  of 
the  ground. 

"  But,  cook,  to  save  you  from  Yen  Wang,  whose 
image  now  looks  down  upon  you,  who  has  been  in 
your  very  presence  for  nearly  two  rounded  moons, 
exceeds  all  of  these  things  in  wisdom  and  difficulty. 
There  is  only  one  thing,  and  it  is  by  no  means  easy, 
even  for  me,  to  obtain — a  golden  elixir!  Ordi- 
narily the  moon  and  planets  and  all  the  powerful 
[196] 


THE   WANDERER 

lights  in  heaven  must  seven  times  seven  repeat 
their  footsteps;  and  the  four  seasons  nine  times 
complete  their  circuit.  Then  must  this  elixir  be 
chastened  in  molten  silver  and  burnt  red  with 
molten  gold.  But,  cook,  one  draught  will  save 
you;  three  draughts  will  give  you  ten  myriad  of 
ages,  and  eight  draughts  will  waft  you  beyond  the 
sphere  of  sublunary  things." 

"  Do  it,  master,"  muttered  the  cook  huskily. 

"  It  is  well,"  responded  the  fortune-teller  sol- 
emnly. "  And  I  shall  see  to  it  that  this  shall  not 
cost  you  more  than  ten  taels  sycee " 

The  cook  sprang  tragically  to  his  feet,  and  for- 
getful of  the  image  of  Yen  Wang  the  wrangling 
of  cash  began. 

The  Breton  in  the  guardhouse  awoke  from  his 
stupor.  Reluctantly,  silently,  he  went  away  and 
night  came  down  upon  the  Street  of  Pearls. 


[197] 


CHAPTER   TWO 
WORD    FROM    THE   UNKNOWN 

WHAT  to  man  is  the  warring  of  a  whole 
world  of  nations  when  his  heart  and 
soul  wage  their  more  terrible  combat 
within  him  ?  What  to  him  are  the  destruction  of 
Empires  and  the  annihilation  of  whole  kingdoms 
of  men  when  his  own  bosom  resounds  with  muti- 
lated cries?  So  it  is  that  a  monarch  in  his  temporal 
power  is  subject  more  to  this  internal  warring 
and  brawling  than  to  the  sufferings  of  millions, 
and  the  spiritual  pontiff  is  likewise  forgetful  of 
the  penetential  throngs  and  waxes  gay  or  melan- 
choly as  this  combat  ebbs  or  surges  tumultuously 
within  him. 

This  battling  between  the  heart  and  soul,  flesh 
and  spirit,  conscience  and  desire,  or  what  not,  is 
the  primasval  combat  of  man.  It  is  Cosmic.  And 
while  blood-letting  is  purely  human,  this  other 
struggle  has  something  of  God  in  it — hence  its  ter- 
ribleness. 

For  two  months  such  a  combat  had  been  going 

on  in  the  Breton  and  the  terribleness  of  it  had  left 

its  traces  upon  him.  He  was  but  the  withered 

semblance  of  his  former  self.  Feeble  and  meagre, 

[198] 


WORD  FROM  THE  UNKNOWN 
he  appeared  to  have  but  little  of  life  left  in  him. 
Only  when  the  alluring  mind — the  heart's  fickle 
ally — would  come  to  his  relief  with  pleasing,  en- 
ticing thoughts  did  he  betray  any  energy  or  affect 
interest  in  the  affairs  about  him.  Then  he  has- 
tened to  the  guardhouse  on  the  Street  of  Pearls, 
where  he  stood  motionless  until  dusk,  his  hollow 
eyes  staring  through  the  portals  into  Tai  Lin's 
park.  There  he  waited  day  after  day  to  see  those 
that  lived  where  she  lived,  as  if  they  could  bring 
away  with  them  some  message  from  her  unknown 
to  themselves,  but  which  he  could  decipher  as  soon 
as  they  came  through  the  gateway. 

Such  are  the  strange  conceits  of  hidden  love, 
and  such  are  .the  stratagems  them  employ.  A 
familiar  odour,  sight,  or  sound  are  inexhaustible 
quarries  out  of  which  are  hewn  and  polished  with 
exquisite  care  blocks  that  go  to  build  up  endless 
palaces  and  castles  of  revery,  wherein,  in  due  time, 
are  crowded  a  thousand  airy  happenings.  There 
the  unsubstantial  mind  brings  to  broken  hearts 
echoed  laughter,  false  mirrored  scenes,  and  a 
myriad  of  fairy  fantasies  woven  out  of  the  un- 
known. 

Down  by  his  crucifix  all  night,  or  on  the  over- 
hanging bank  of  the  river  the  Breton  fought 
against  his  heart  and  its  desires,  against  the  love 
that  had  come  to  him  unknown  and  had  taken  him 
suddenly  body  and  soul  into  its  keeping,  and  which 
[199] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
even  in  midst  of  his  appeals  to  God  burned  and 
surged  in  every  vein.  So  he  struggled  night  after 
night,  little  dreaming  that  the  combat  was  drawing 
to  a  close,  and  was  to  end — fortunate  or  otherwise 
— as  each  must  determine  for  himself — in  a  man- 
ner that  showed  him  that  the  hand  of  God  was  in 
it  and  it  was  done  under  His  eye. 

Dusk  had  already  merged  into  darkness  when 
the  Breton,  as  usual,  entered  the  cloisters  on  this 
night.  The  faint  glimmer  of  stars  that  crept 
through  the  one  high-barred  window  was  lost  in 
the  shadows  that  lay  within.  He  lit  a  candle,  and 
folding  his  arms  on  the  table  buried  his  head  in 
them.  It  was  in  this  manner  and  at  this  hour  that 
the  dreams  of  the  day  began  to  forsake  him. 
Sometimes  his  body  quivered,  and  it  may  have  been 
the  trembling  of  a  sob,  but  it  was  unuttered. 
Sometimes  he  raised  his  head  and  with  dry,  ques- 
tioning eyes  gazed  long  and  intently  at  the  cruci- 
fix hanging  with  its  wounded  Christ  beside  his 
pallet. 

Midnight  or  after  a  person  listening  would  have 
heard  a  smothered  moan  and  might  have  seen  a 
glimmer  of  tears  in  his  eyes  as  they  again 
sought  beseechingly  the  crucifix  on  the  wall.  It 
was  then  that  the  day-dreams  had  utterly  vanished, 
and  only  the  pain  of  his  sin  lay  hold  of  him.  It 
was  then  that  he  left  the  table  and  threw  himself 
down  before  the  Christ  in  whose  compassion  sins 

[200] 


WORD   FROM    THE   UNKNOWN 
are   forgiven  and  the  memory  of  them  washed 
away. 

So,  on  this  night  when  he  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
crucifix  he  discovered  before  him  two  sealed 
envelopes.  On  the  larger  was  written,  "  Do  not 
open  for  one  year."  He  broke  the  seal  of  the 
other  and  drew  out  a  letter  in  the  handwriting  of 
the  Unknown. 

As  the  Breton  read  the  first  few  lines  a  look  of 
startled  wonder  came  into  his  eyes,  then  pain 
mingled  with  anguish.  He  stopped  reading  and 
for  some  time  sat  gazing  emptily  before  him  into 
those  dim  places  where  truth  is  sought. 

Presently  he  resumed  reading  the  Unknown's 
last  words,  and  varying  emotions  of  amazement 
and  fear  shot  across  his  face.  He  looked  wonder- 
ingly  over  to  the  crucifix  as  if  to  ask:  "  Do  you 
know  all  this?"  But  as  he  continued  reading  his 
credulity  vanished,  and  the  lines  of  his  lips  drew 
hard  and  straight.  Sometimes  his  fist  involun- 
tarily clenched,  a  flush  burned  in  his  pale,  sunken 
cheeks;  sparks  of  a  hidden  fire  flashed  from  his 
blue-black  eyes,  blazed,  died  out,  then  burned 
with  a  steadier  flame.  Sometimes  the  veins  in  his 
forehead  and  over  his  temples  stood  out  like  whip- 
cords. His  breath  came  in  even  heavy  pulsations. 

The  letter  of  the  Unknown  was  drawing  to  an 
end.  The  Breton  rose  from  his  chair  and  bent 
over  against  the  candle  flame,  as  if  with  brighter 

[201] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
light  to  fathom  out  the  terror  and  the  truth  of 
those  unread  pages. 

The  last  sheet  fluttered  from  his  hand. 

Standing  by  the  table  his  head  gradually  sank 
forward;  his  eyes  closed,  and  into  his  face  came  a 
stony  uncertain  tension.  Presently,  like  one  awak- 
ening, he  pressed  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  if 
to  arouse  himself  more  surely  to  the  scene  before 
him.  Then  mechanically  he  gathered  up  the  sheets 
of  the  Unknown's  letter  and  put  them  back  in  the 
envelope — all  but  the  last  sheet,  which  was  after- 
wards found  on  the  floor  under  the  table,  and  on 
which  were  written  these  enigmatic  words : 

"  My  son,  I  cannot  continue  this  category  of 
sin.  Day  now  breaks  and  I  must  be  on  my  way — 
a  way  from  which  there  is  no  returning  at  all,  for- 
ever. You  will  look  into  what  I  have  written,  then 
• — go  away. 

"  What  will  come  of  all  this  I  do  not  know,  but 
these  people  will  not  submit  forever.  Why  they 
have  done  so  this  long  I  do  not  understand,  nor 
do  I  know  what  is  going  to  happen  except  that  in 
the  chronology  of  such  acts  comes  inevitably  the 
century  end  of  wrong  and  that  awful  number 
*  Ninety-three.'  I  see  already  the  rim  of  a  reign 
of  terror,  I  hear  noises  that  are  the  clamour  of 
vengeance,  I  discover  signs  in  the  heavens  and  it 
is  the  judgment  of  God. 

"  To-night  is  the  end !  What  melancholy  fore- 
[202] 


WORD  FROM  THE  UNKNOWN 
bodings  this  may  bring  to  you,  my  son,  will  remain 
forever  unknown  to  me.  But  I  leave  you,  as  is 
my  duty — that  you  may  grapple  with  this  double- 
headed  dragon  that  now  assails  you.  Alone  you 
must  conquer  or  alone  succumb.  In  the  battles  of 
the  heart  and  soul  there  can  be  no  allies. 

"  I  have  left  you  in  the  other  envelope  certain 
secrets,  which  you  are  not  to  discover  until  you 
have  left  this  place,  to  return  no  more." 

The  Breton  continued  standing  by  the  table, 
staring  emptily  into  those  shadows  out  of  which 
so  often  come  forms  real  and  terrible. 

The  candle  burned  low  and  flickered. 

Into  the  dull  eyes  of  the  Breton  a  faint  light 
was  creeping,  a  light  that  was  not  a  reflection,  but 
itself  a  fire  such  as  lurks  in  that  inflammable  tinder 
— a  man's  passions. 

The  candle,  like  the  Breton's  faith,  was  sput- 
tering, and  presently  this  candle  flickered  and  went 
out. 

Night  was  ebbing  away.  Monotonously  the 
watchman  passed  and  repassed,  his  gong  grum- 
bling out  the  hours  of  night. 

A  grey  ray  stole  in  from  the  east;  the  hum  of  a 
new  day  grew  great,  and  the  breaking  dawn  with 
its  echoes  came  into  the  silent  room. 

The   Breton  was  kneeling  before   the   crucifix 
that  hung  near  his  pallet.  Daylight  did  not  arouse 
him,  nor  the  clamour  of  day.  He  was  not  praying, 
[203] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
nor  moving,  nor  dreaming.  He  was  waiting,  as 
men  before  him  and  since  have  waited,  for  the 
Christ  to  lift  up  his  bowed  head  and  speak  to  him 
from  the  pain  of  the  crucifix.  The  Breton  waited, 
and  the  solemn  melody  of  chanting  voices  rose 
and  fell,  then — silence. 

A  sunbeam  edged  shyly  through  the  window, 
lingered  uncertain  and — went  away.  Someone 
knocked  at  his  door,  but  he  did  not  turn  from 
the  cross,  for  he  heard  no  sounds  nor  knew  that 
it  was  midday. 

Daylight  grew  dim,  and  the  melancholy  shad- 
dows  of  twilight  hovered  a  few  moments  around 
his  window,  then  it  was  again  dark  and  the  watch- 
man's gong  measured  out  the  hours  of  the  night. 

Once  more  dawn  crept  up  from  under  the  skirts 
of  night  and  ushered  in  a  new  and  memorable  day 
for  the  Breton  priest.  He  still  knelt  before  the 
crucifix,  but  the  deep  lines  of  pain  had  vanished 
from  his  face ;  a  calm,  gentle  serenity  rested  there, 
and  when  at  last  the  sunbeam  edged  coyly,  doubt- 
fully, across  the  casement,  he  opened  his  eyes  and 
they  shone  with  a  new,  great  joy. 

When  the  sunbeam  began  to  go  he  rose  from 
the  crucifix  and  put  the  envelopes  into  his  robe. 
For  some  moments  they  lingered,  then  went  away 
— this  sunbeam  and  the  Breton. 


[204] 


CHAPTER   THREE 
DAWN   AGAIN 

WTHOUT  hesitation  the  Breton  once 
again  entered  the  Palace  of  Tai  Lin, 
and  went  quickly  through  its  halls 
and  courts  until  he  came  to  the  apartments 
of  his  Excellency's  wife.  For  a  moment  he  hesi- 
tated at  the  oval  silken-draped  doorway,  then  put- 
ting the  curtains  aside  he  stepped  softly  in. 

By  the  screen,  as  if  it  had  never  been  moved, 
stood  his  chair,  beside  it  the  high  ebony  table  with 
its  roseleaf  marble  top,  and  in  front  of  it  with  her 
face  toward  the  screen  sat  the  wife,  as  she  had  sat 
many  months  before. 

For  a  moment  the  Breton  pressed  back  against 
the  curved  lintel,  then  went  softly  over  and  stood 
beside  her.  She  did  not  move  nor  give  any  sign  of 
recognition  as  the  Breton  approached,  only  her 
little  hands  folded  in  her  lap  pressed  together  more 
tightly,  until  her  finger  tips  became  darkly  red. 
It  is  not  known  how  long  this  silence  lasted,  for, 
though  time  may  never  cease,  there  are  moments 
in  the  horologue  of  love,  which  are  not  counted. 

"  I  have  come  back,"  said  the  Breton  finally  in 
soft  monotonous  tones. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  wife's  hands 
[205  3 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
trembled    and    relaxed;    a    slight    feverish    flush 
diffused  her  face,  but  she  gave  no  sign  that  she 
heard  him. 

"  I  have  come  back  to  you,"  he  repeated. 

A  tremor  shot  through  her,  and  a  faint  flush 
darkened  and  spread  to  brow  and  to  neck. 

"  I  understand  it  all  now,"  he  continued  vaguely. 
"  You  remember  when  your  hand  touched  my 
robe?  At  first  I  thought  it  was  the  hand  of  God, 
for  it  seemed  as  though  I  were  in  heaven.  Then 
came  another  thought  and  I  cast  you  aside.  For 
this  I  have  suffered.  In  every  soft  sound  of  night 
have  I  heard  you  fall  again  and  again,  without  a 
cry,  just  a  silken  crash.  Even  God  would  not  heed 
my  prayers  to  drown  that  sound.  In  the  day  I 
beggared  time  before  the  Gateway.  By  night  I 
prayed,  did  penance,  and  sleeplessly  watched  for 
the  reluctant  shadows  of  dawn,  a  dawn  that  pun- 
ished me  with  a  thousand  memories;  with  the 
larks'  song  a-fluttering  from  their  bamboo  cages; 
with  flowers  whose  fragrance  choked  and  whose 
colours  burned  my  eyes;  with  laughter  and  the 
dreadful  crinkling  of  silk.  Again  at  night  it  was 
prayer  and  penance  or  pain,  for  the  river  mur- 
mured with  the  tones  of  your  voice,  and  the  stars 
stole  their  lights  from  your  eyes  and  looked  in  re- 
proachful pain  down  upon  me." 

Presently  the  Breton  took  from  the  bosom  of  his 
robe  the  manuscripts  left  by  the  Unknown. 
[206] 


DAWN   AGAIN 

"  Three  days  ago  I  found  these  secretly  beside 
my  crucifix " ;  and  he  looked  dumbly  at  the  en- 
velopes he  half  extended  toward  her. 

"  He  is  gone,"  he  continued,  a  resigned  softness 
creeping  into  the  monotony  of  his  voice,  "  and  it 
was  in  this  letter  that  he  asked  me  to  go  away,  for 
it  was  sin  to  remain.  Of  this  I  took  counsel  of  God, 
and  for  two  nights  I  prayed  to  our  Christ  on  His 
crucifix,  and  to-day  at  dawn,  God  bade  me  go. 

"  Did  you  know,"  he  asked  with  singular  sim- 
plicity, "  that  I  have  come  back  to  you?  " 

The  wife  moved  slightly,  and  the  light  in  her 
great  eyes  deepened. 

"  You  have  no  husband,  for  husbands  are 
searched  out  by  God,  as  wives  are  sent  by  Him 
from  heaven.  On  the  second  night  before  my 
crucifix  all  things  became  clear  to  me,  and  doubts 
were  brushed  aside.  We  will  go  to  another  coun- 
try; to  America,  where  all  are  free;  to  Australia, 
where  all  are  forgotten,  or  to  other  lands  where 
men  are  lost.  We  will  be  always  together;  I  can 
look  at  you  and  you  can  put  your  hand  upon  my 
shoulder,  and  it  will  be  as  in  heaven.  We  will  live 
together  forever,  for  whom  God  marries  He  never 
parts.  I  have  planned  how  we  shall  leave  the  city," 
he  continued,  his  voice  vibrant  with  eagerness. 
"  You  know  no  one  can  leave  this  city  by  night,  but 
on  the  eve  of  the  Propitiation  of  the  Gods  of  the 
Waters  all  of  the  city  gates  and  ward  gates  will 
[207] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
be  open.  You  can  leave  the  park  by  the  western 
postern  and  I  will  meet  you  there  the  second  hour 
after  darkness.  We  will  not  go  to  Hongkong,  for 
they  would  send  ships  and  bring  us  back.  We  can- 
not remain  in  Yingching,  for  they  would  find  us. 
We  cannot  go  to  another  town  in  the  Empire,  for 
all  of  the  magistrates  in  the  Middle  Kingdom  will 
search  for  you.  I  have  thought  carefully  of  all  this 
and  have  planned  that  when  you  come  to  the 
postern,  I  will  meet  you  with  a  sedan;  I  will  take 
you  to  the  river,  where  I  will  have  a  river  boat 
waiting,  then  we  will  go  up  the  river  to  the  Grotto 
of  the  Sleepless  Dragon.  Men  fear  this  Cavern 
of  Yu  Ngao,  but  there  is  no  danger.  I  will 
go  there  first  with  Tsang  and  prepare  it  for  you, 
and  when  you  go  we  will  take  Tsang's  wife.  We 
can  stay  there  until  people  forget,  then  we  will 
take  a  boat  and  go  down  the  river  by  night  until 
we  come  to  the  sea.  At  Pak-hoi  we  will  take  a 
sea  junk  and  go  to  Singapore,  for  there  all  the 
ships  of  the  world  meet. 

"Will  you  go?" 

The  wife  did  not  reply,  so  they  remained  motion- 
less in  silence,  and  time  passed  as  it  had  passed 
with  them  before. 

The  sun  slid  slowly  down  the  cloudless  Septem- 
ber heavens;  the  shadow  of  the  feathery  bamboo 
crept  again  into   the  chamber  and  gently  slunk 
away;  but  when  the  rose-saffron  of  the  after-glow 
[208] 


DAWN   AGAIN 

flushed  upward  the  western  sky  and  diffused  its  soft 
light  through  the  court,  the  wife  left  her  stool  and 
crossed  over  to  the  shell-latticed  window,  and  as 
when  the  summer  storm  is  past  and  the  burdened 
lily  tilts  its  gathered  diamonds  to  the  sun,  so  her 
tears,  trembling  on  her  cheeks,  sparkled  joyously 
in  the  amber  light. 

When  the  melancholy  **  coo-ee,  coo-ee  "  of  the 
argus-eyed  pheasant  sounded  softly  through  the 
twilight,  she  came  back  from  the  window,  her  little 
hands  clasped  together,  her  eyes  downcast.  For 
several  moments  she  stood  shyly  beside  him,  then 
looking  up,  said: 

"  I  will  go." 

For  some  time  the  Breton  stood  as  if  he  had 
not  heard,  then  kneeling,  leaned  forward  until  his 
head  touched  her  robe.  The  wife  lay  her  hand 
lightly  upon  his  head,  and  for  the  first  time  there 
fell  upon  him  that  blessing,  which,  like  mercy,  has 
a  double  sanctity,  and  though  its  voice  is  unheard 
among  the  fretful  noises  of  the  world,  yet  its  rever- 
berations passing  from  a  woman's  heart  go  on  and 
on  through  vast  distances  and  depths  until  its 
echoes  cease  in  that  uncertain  chasm — a  man's 
breast. 

"  I  knew  you  would  come  back,"  she  said  pres- 
ently, her  voice  quivering  between  laughter  and 
sobs.  "  When  I  touched  your  robes  and  felt  you 
tremble  I  knew  that  you  loved  me,  and  when  you 
[209] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
took  hold  of  my  wrists  you  do  not  know  what  hap- 
piness came  over  me.  I  felt  as  if  you  were  going 
to  pick  me  up  and  fly  away  forever  to  that  heaven 
you  have  spoken  of  so  often.  Then — then  you 
threw  me  to  the  floor." 

She  felt  the  Breton  shudder,  and  she  reached 
down  and  took  hold  of  his  ears  and  tilted  his  head 
back.  For  a  moment  she  looked  into  his  eyes,  then 
for  the  first  time  in  many  months  the  room  echoed 
softly  with  her  laughter. 

"  You  must  not  look  that  way,"  she  cried 
roguishly  as  she  twitched  his  ears.  "  Don't  you 
know  that  that  was  a  most  happy  parting  compared 
to  the  first  time  you  went  away,  when  you  left  me 
without  a  word,  chained  by  torturing  doubt?  But 
this  time  you  threw  me  to  the  floor,  and  then  I 
knew  that  you  loved  me.  I  have  not  been  unhappy, 
nor  have  I  been  joyful  these  many  weeks,  but  I 
have  been  contented,  and  in  the  airy  tapestry  of 
my  dreams  have  I  embroidered  ten  thousand  times 
just  such  a  scene  as  this.  Each  day  at  that  time, 
when  you  were  accustomed  to  come,  I  sought  my 
stool  here  beside  the  screen,  waited,  and  now  you 
have  come  as  I  knew  you  would." 

Impulsively  she  knelt  down  beside  him  and  in 
the  gathering  dusk  soon  one  figure  could  not  be 
distinguished  from  the  other. 


[210] 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

THE   GROTTO   OF   THE   SLEEPLESS 
DRAGON 

FEW  spectacles  are  ever  given  for  man  to 
witness  more  melancholy  than  the  dissolu- 
tion of  an  ancient  dynasty;  an  end  in- 
evitably tragic  and  often  leaving  its  solemn  sign, 
as  did  the  dissipation  of  the  Mings,  forever  upon 
the  people. 

For  two  centuries  and  a  half  had  this  family  of 
the  acolyte  ruled  over  a  wide  portion  of  earth  and 
then  did  it  go  out,  tragically,  but  in  a  manner  be- 
fitting a  dynasty  whose  past  had  been  so  filled  with 
greatness. 

When  Tongshing — the  last  of  his  race  to  rule 
from  the  Dragon  Throne — found  that  the  east 
gate  of  his  capital  was  invested  by  besieging  armies, 
he  retraced  his  steps  to  the  Palace  and  sounded  the 
gong  to  summon  his  courtiers.  None  appeared. 
Then  alone  with  the  eunuch,  Wen  Chenan,  the  old 
monarch  sought  his  favourite  spot  on  Wansui  Hill, 
and  there  beneath  its  solitary  tree  wrote  this,  his 
final  protest : 

"  For  seventeen  years  I  have  reigned  from  the 
Dragon  Throne  and  now  even  rebels  come  to  in- 

[211] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
suit  me  in  my  capital.  Evidently  this  is  a  punish- 
ment sent  by  Heaven.  But  I  am  not  alone  guilty. 
My  ministers  are  worse  than  myself.  They  have 
ruined  me  by  concealing  the  true  condition  of 
affairs. 

"  With  what  countenance  shall  I  after  death  be 
able  to  appear  before  my  forefathers?  You,  who 
have  brought  me  to  this  unhappy  end,  take  my 
body  and  hack  it  to  pieces.  I  shall  not  protest.  But 
spare  my  people  and  refrain  from  doing  them 
injury." 

Then  this  old  man,  who  was  a  monarch,  hung 
himself  on  the  solitary  juniper  tree. 

After  the  Emperor's  death  the  Ming  officials 
in  the  south  of  China  crowned  one  kinsman  after 
another  as  his  successor,  but  each,  oppressed  by  the 
curse  of  his  race,  died  in  a  manner  not  less  tragic 
than  the  melancholy  end  of  Tongshing.  In  the 
course  of  this  Imperial  extinction  the  choice 
at  last  fell  upon  the  Prince  Yu  Ngao,  who  was 
proclaimed  Emperor  in  the  old  city  of  Yingching. 

Shortly  after  Yu  Ngao  had  been  crowned  the 
city  was  besieged  by  the  Manchus  and  captured  on 
the  26th  of  November,  1650,  more  than  one-half 
million  of  its  inhabitants  perishing  in  the  assault. 
It  was  supposed  that  upon  this  day  the  young 
Emperor  also  died,  but  such  was  not  the  case,  for 
on  the  night  before  the  final  attack,  the  Emperor 
and  three  hundred  of  his  most  devoted  followers, 

[212] 


GROTTO  OF  THE  SLEEPLESS  DRAGON 
taking  with  them  the  Imperial  treasure,  escaped 
from  the  city  by  means  of  a  water-gate  situated 
between  the  Gate  of  Eternal  Rest  and  the  south- 
west corner  of  the  city  walls,  through  which  a  large 
canal  runs  from  the  river  into  the  city. 

It  was  the  intention  of  the  fugitives  to  make 
their  way  into  Kwangsi  and  join  the  Ming  forces 
in  that  Province;  their  flight  being  up  the  Chu 
Kiang  to  the  North  River,  thence  to  the  Lien  Chau 
River  and  across  the  mountains  into  Kwangsi.  But 
after  the  capture  of  the  city,  their  escape  being 
discovered,  a  large  force  set  out  in  pursuit,  the 
fugitives  having  but  one  day  and  two  nights'  start. 
On  arriving  at  the  gorge  of  the  Blind  Boy,  less 
than  one-third  the  distance  of  their  journey,  they 
found  themselves  but  a  half  day's  march  ahead  of 
their  pursuers  and  feeling  that  the  end  had  come 
they  selected  for  their  last  stand  a  high  shelf  of 
rock  in  the  mouth  of  the  gorge. 

From  this  point,  looking  up  the  canon,  there  is 
seen  with  great  distinctness  on  a  perpendicular  wall 
of  rock  about  two  hundred  feet  above  the  water, 
the  "  Blind  Boy,"  which  gives  the  gorge  its  name. 
Looking  at  the  image  from  this  angle,  the  form, 
features  and  sad  blind  expression  of  the  eyes  is 
.vividly  seen.  The  Emperor  with  his  little  army 
standing  upon  this  high  shelf  peering  through  the 
purple  shadows  of  this  great  gorge  perceived  the 
image  of  the  Blind  Boy  and  as  they  looked — it  is 
[213] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
so  related — the  eyes  opened  and  gazed  benignly, 
Buddha-like,  down  upon  them.  Then  as  the  eyes 
closed  slowly  and  reluctantly  a  peasant  appeared 
upon  the  shelf  and  prostrating  himself  before  the 
Emperor  begged  to  lead  him  to  a  place  of  safety. 
Receiving  imperial  sanction  he  took  the  force  by 
a  circuitous  route  above  the  gorge  to  a  cavern 
whose  secret  recesses  were  apparently  alone  known 
to  him. 

Yu  Ngao's  small  regiment  had  scarcely  arrived 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  cavern  when  their  tireless  foe 
appeared.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  part  of 
the  men  defended  the  approach  until  the  Emperor 
and  the  remainder  of  his  force,  carrying  the  im- 
perial treasure,  retired  in  safety.  Again  and  again 
the  enemy  attempted  to  capture  the  cavern  but 
owing  to  the  ease  of  its  defence  they  were  re- 
pulsed. After  a  number  of  months'  close  watch 
they  attacked  again.  This  time  there  was  no  com- 
bat and  they  entered — entered  to  be  seen  no  more. 

Years  passed  and  other  forces  went  into  the 
cavern,  to  return  never.  After  this,  during  long 
intervals  of  time,  adventurous  persons  have  gone 
in  to  search  for  the  great  treasure,  but  none  of  them 
by  man  were  ever  seen  again. 

Thus  the  people  call  this  the  Grotto  of  the 
Sleepless  Dragon  and — avoid  it.  They  have  sur- 
rounded it  with  a  halo  of  mysticism  and  a  semi- 
sacredness    clings    to    it.     The    country    around 
[214] 


GROTTO    OF   THE    SLEEPLESS    DRAGON 
abounds  with  marvellous  tales  told  of  its  dragon, 
which  guards,  sleepless  and  relentless,  its  treasure 
of  gold  and  jade,  of  pearls  and  priceless  rubies, 
until  again  the  Mings  shall  come  to  their  own. 

The  word  holds  no  more  wonderful  scene 
than  when  after  having  ascended  a  fjord  that 
opens  into  the  North  River,  and  upon  whose 
jade-green  waters  the  sun  shines  but  a  mo- 
ment each  day,  a  turn  is  made  and  this  marvellous 
white  precipice  rises  overhead  sheer  out  of  the 
water.  Four  caves  are  to  be  seen  half-veiled  with 
vines  and  from  out  of  a  great  fissure  a  third  way 
up  the  cliff  falls  a  cataract  in  a  broad,  heavy  sheet 
of  glittering  silver.  When  it  strikes  against 
the  rocks,  it  then  comes  down  like  snow  or 
is  blown  upward  a  veiling  mist.  These  falls  are 
broken  four  times  by  projecting  shelves,  the  last 
drop  being  the  longest.  Just  below  the  second 
shelf  to  the  right  of  the  falls  and  almost  invisible 
from  the  stream  are  stone  steps  cut  diagonally 
across  the  face  of  the  cliff,  beginning  in  some 
shrubs  and  disappearing  under  the  falling  waters, 
while  above  them  hangs  a  rusted  chain  suspended 
in  two  long  folds.  Under  this  projecting  shelf,  hid 
by  the  veil  of  waters,  entered  by  these  stone  steps 
and  rusted  chain,  is  the  Grotto  of  the  Sleepless 
Dragon. 

The  formation  of  the  cliff  is  a  calciferous,  con- 
glomerate mass  of   fantastic  beauty.  The  upper 
[215] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
right  hand  side  has  the  appearance  of  the  facade  of 
some  vast  age-eroded  cathedral ;  serrated  pinnacles 
and  slender  spires  point  skyward  in  irregular  rising 
series.  Here  complete  a  flying  buttress;  there  one 
half  hid  in  ruins.  In  one  place  arches,  in  another 
cavernous  recesses,  that  might  have  been  win- 
dows; pillars,  gargoyles  and  angels  are  scattered 
from  top  to  bottom;  while  around  each  spire  and 
buttress,  arch  and  pillar,  gargoyle  and  angel,  twine 
crepe  myrtle  and  festoons  of  vinnig,  whose  clusters 
of  blossoms  sweeten  the  air  of  the  shadowed 
canon. 

These  vines  and  cavities  have  become  the  homes 
of  innumerable  birds :  doves,  thrushes,  cormorants 
and  francolins,  mimahs,  kingfishers,  owls,  ospreys 
and  eagles,  while  at  dusk  the  hundred-footed  fox 
and  spirit-cat  creep  about  its  broken  face,  in  and 
out  of  its  columns  and  creepers. 

One  day  these  birds  fluttered  and  screamed,  the 
fox  and  spirit-cat  peeped  out  of  their  dens  for  a 
boat  had  crept  into  their  solitude  and  lingered  in 
the  emerald  lake. 

Presently  two  men  got  out  of  it,  followed  with 
difficulty  the  narrow,  vine-covered  path,  crossed 
the  stones  and  disappeared  under  the  falling 
waters.  All  day  the  birds  watched  them  go  back 
and  forth,  bearing  their  loads  into  the  cavern 
whence  no  man  ever  returns. 

So  the  day  passed  and  along  toward  the  latter 
[216] 


GROTTO  OF  THE  SLEEPLESS  DRAGON 
part  of  the  afternoon  one  of  the  men  went  down 
to  the  boat  and  remained  there,  smoking  peace- 
fully. The  other  climbed  up  the  face  of  the  cliff 
until  he  reached  a  narrow  shelf  near  the  far  end 
of  the  fissure  from  which  the  cataract  burst.  Bright 
little  birds  with  blue  wings  and  brown  breasts, 
a-tilting  on  the  vines,  francolins  perched  on  the 
crags  or  fluttering  in  circles,  looked  wonderingly 
at  this  man  standing  silently  upon  that  perilous 
projection  and  gazing  contentedly  over  the  lower 
cliffs  to  the  westward. 

With  the  setting  of  the  sun  came  the  gorgeous 
afterglow  of  this  latitude,  burning  the  cloud  banks 
above  the  purple-misted  mountains  with  gold, 
alternating  with  amethyst  and  lilac  and  shafting 
over  this  solitude  their  exquisite  hues  and  lavish- 
ing them  unseen  upon  the  man  pressed  against  the 
cliff.  At  last  a  purple  veil  rose  from  the  gorge: 
eagles  and  companies  of  ospreys  soaring  majestic- 
ally above  and  below  him  now  began  to  wheel, 
scream,  poise,  and  dart.  The  spirit-cat  and  hun- 
dred-footed fox  came  to  look  at  him,  meditatively, 
fearlessly,  knowingly,  for  it  was  dusk. 

When  the  man  clinging  to  the  vines  and  the 
crags  descended  the  birds  returned  to  their  ac- 
customed roosts  and  night  brooded  gently  over  all. 


[217] 


CHAPTER    FIVE 

THE    PROPITIATION   OF   THE    GODS 
OF   THE   WATERS 

A1ONG  the  festivals  of  Southern  China 
none  is  more  popular  than  the  Propitia- 
tion of  the  Gods  of  the  Waters,  which 
takes  place  during  the  spring  and  autumn  in  vil- 
lages and  cities  bordering  on  fhe  Chu  Kiang 
estuary  and  the  wild  ocean  banks  of  the  Southern 
Sea;  for  these  cities  and  towns  have  their  boats 
with  fathers,  husbands  and  sons  scattered  over 
many  waters  and  depend  for  their  sustenance  as 
well  as  life  upon  the  mercy  of  the  Gods  of  the 
Deep. 

Contrary  to  most  festivals,  this  is  a  festivity  of 
the  night.  Besides  calls,  feasting,  and  the 
usual  merriment  of  such  occasions,  it  is  marked  by 
the  procession  of  the  Dragon  and  an  illumination 
of  lanterns. 

The  Dragon,  which  is  taken  through  the  streets 
on  this  night,  symbolises  the  Monarch  of  the  Deep, 
and  is  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long. 
This  monster,  made  of  silk  and  covered  with  glit- 
tering scales  of  gilt  is  carried  by  men  concealed 
within  it.  During  the  procession  it  goes  through 
[218] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

all  of  the  evolutions  of  its  kind;  coiling,  wriggling, 
creeping,  gliding;  every  so  often  darting  out  its 
monstrous  glaring  head  after  a  huge  sea-pearl 
frisked  teasingly  in  front  of  it.  It  draws  up  in 
rolls,  moves  in  long  silken  undulations,  squirms, 
twists,  lolls,  sometimes  springing  at  the  spectators. 
Preceding  and  following  the  Dragon  are  carried 
enormous  models  of  fish :  sharks,  perch,  whales, 
pompano,  sea-eels,  an  endless  number;  gorgeous, 
gleaming,  shaking  in  the  sea  of  the  night  their  fins 
and  tails  of  fire. 

But  what  is  best  in  this  Feast  of  the  Night  are 
its  lanterns;  nowhere  are  people  so  skilful  in  mak- 
ing these  dainty  ornaments  of  darkness  as  are  the 
men  of  this  land.  Their  variety  of  form,  colour- 
ing, elegant  carving  and  gilding  exceed  descrip- 
tion; while  the  strange  but  delightful  taste,  the 
infinite  pains  and  ingenuity  that  are  exercised  in 
their  construction  are  beyond  comparison.  They 
are  made  from  paper,  silk,  horn,  glass,  cloth,  bam- 
boo, and  raffia.  Their  variety  of  shapes  and 
decorations  are  without  end;  round,  square,  melon- 
shaped,  gourd-shaped,  melons  squared,  gourds 
squared,  pentagoned,  hexagoned,  octagoned  and 
all  the  other  goneds;  birds,  beasts,  official  fans  and 
umbrellas,  flowers,  fish,  miniature  pagodas,  phoe- 
nixes, unicorns,  and  turtles;  all  the  creatures  of 
heaven  and  earth,  of  mythology  and  man's  crea- 
tion, coloured,  blazoned,  gilded,  tasselled,  charac- 
[219] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
tered,  swaying  and  quivering.  Such  are  the  lights 
that  swing  in  the  night  winds  of  the  spring  and 
autumn. 

Some  lanterns  are  no  larger  than  goose  eggs; 
some  are  like  magnificent  chandeliers,  twenty  feet 
in  diameter,  while  others,  as  the  Tsao-ma  Kong, 
are  even  more  elaborate. 

The  ingenuity  exercised  in  the  construction  of 
this  latter  kind  is  almost  incomprehensible.  The 
inanimate  lives.  Currents  of  hot  air  generated  by 
lights  set  innumerable  figures  in  motion;  vessels 
spread  their  sails  and  move  slowly  or  rapidly  over 
undulating  seas ;  fields  are  ploughed  by  water-oxen 
and  rice-planted;  great  concourses  of  people  move 
by  and  horses  race  along  with  chariots;  armies 
manoeuvre  and  retreat;  kings  and  princes  with 
their  retinues  come  and  go;  there  are  dances  and 
theatrical  performances,  comedies  and  tragedies, 
while  innumerable  other  scenes  of  life  pass  before 
the  bewildered  sight  as  transient  and  fleeting  as  life 
itself — vanishing  when  the  candle  sputters  and 
goes  out. 

The  day  of  the  Propitiation  of  the  Gods  of  the 
Waters  came  at  last,  though  youths,  jugglers, 
thieves,  gamins,  a  priest,  a  wife,  and  in  fact  a 
whole  city  had  waited  impatiently,  almost  angrily, 
for  its  coming.  The  morning  of  this  autumn  day 
dragged  tediously  along;  noon  came  and  the  hours 
succeeding  grew  more  expectant  and  breathless. 
[220] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

Other  than  the  occasional  firing  of  a  cracker  and 
the  whoop  of  urchins,  the  afternoon  had  remained 
silent.  But  as  evening  progressed  merry  sounds  in- 
creased; jugglers,  mountebanks  and  actors  amused 
the  crowds  in  every  available  space;  gongs  were 
beaten,  music  played  and  as  darkness  settled  over 
the  city  lanterns  began  to  glimmer  from  every  pro- 
jection, from  ridge-poles,  balconies  and  carved 
fantastic  eaves.  Windows  oval,  square,  and  ob- 
long glowed  with  brilliancy,  while  fronts  of  houses, 
whimsically  carved  and  emblazoned  with  signs  of 
lacquer  and  gold,  were  ablaze  with  profusion  of 
lanterns.  In  the  throngs  moving  hither  and 
thither  each  possessed  some  kind  of  a  light;  a 
silken,  tasselled,  emblazoned  lantern,  a  shimmer  of 
horn  or  flare  of  torch. 

During  the  first  hours  of  darkness  the  uproar 
of  music,  gongs,  brat-whoops  and  crackers  was 
incessant,  but  eventually,  as  the  lanterns  began  to 
flicker  and  go  out,  the  roar  grew  less  and  less. 

The  park  of  Tai  Lin  rested  in  this  sea  of  light 
and  storm-din  an  island  of  solitude;  dark,  peace- 
ful, lit  only  by  the  stars  and  the  glimmer  of  sur- 
rounding lights,  noised  only  by  the  roar  without, 
and  by  the  music  of  waters  gurgling  in  their  pools 
and  rivulets,  tumbling  over  rocks  and  tiny  preci- 
pices; murmuring,  soothing,  slumbering. 

Out  into  this  solitude  the  wife  crept  during  the 
second  hour  after  darkness.  She  left  the  palace 

[221] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
from  a  western  court,  known  as  the  Court  of  Sun- 
set. Turning  to  her  right  she  skirted  along  the 
west  granite  terrace  that  overhung  the  lotus 
pond.  Along  this  she  hastened  until  she  came  to 
the  steps  leading  down  upon  the  lawn.  Then  she 
stopped,  turned  back  and  with  her  little  hands 
clasped  upon  her  bosom,  gazed  intently  at  the 
home  she  intended  leaving  forever.  Trembling 
she  went  down  from  the  terrace  and  crossed  the 
lawn  overspread  with  great  banians  and  wutung 
trees.  As  she  moved  cautiously,  hesitatingly  along 
under  their  shadows  every  voice  of  night  con- 
spired to  startle  her;  deer  coming  from  out  of  their 
covert,  a  bird-sigh,  the  night-wind's  swish  or  a 
leaf  falling  at  her  feet  caused  her  to  shrink  back 
or  brought  a  smothered  cry  from  her  lips.  It  was 
a  stealth  full  of  fear  to  her,  but  she  went  bravely 
on  though  trembling,  shuddering,  sometimes  ceas- 
ing to  breathe.  She  came  to  the  miniature  hills  on 
the  west  and  hastened  through  them,  past  pagodas 
scattered  on  all  sides;  pagodas  that  clung  to  the 
edge  of  precipices  and  overhung  her  path  like  im- 
pending traps;  others  loomed  up  suddenly  before 
her  in  the  darkness  of  little  gorges,  while  some  as 
gigantic  beasts  watched  her  from  clumps  of  trees. 
When  she  passed  through  the  bamboo  groves  be- 
yond the  fluttering  of  startled  birds  caused  her  to 
fly  with  fear  over  their  gravelled  paths.  From 
the  bamboo  groves  she  followed  a  little  rivulet 
[222] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

agurgle  under  an  avenue  of  swishing  willows  and 
whenever  a  fish  splashed  in  the  waters  she  clung 
to  the  willows,  trembling  and  uncertain.  At  the 
source  of  the  stream  in  the  miniature  mountains  of 
rock  she  turned  to  her  left  across  a  grassy  starlit 
meadow,  where  the  noise  of  revelry  sounded 
plainly  upon  the  night  air.  West  of  this  meadow 
rose  blackly  before  her  the  forest  hiding  the  west- 
ern wall.  Peering  into  the  forbidding  shadows  of 
its  pines  she  hesitated,  looked  over  the  meadow  so 
bright  under  the  starlight  and  glimmer  of  sur- 
rounding sea  of  lanterns,  then  breathless,  with  an 
heavy  hand  upon  her  shoulder,  she  entered  its 
gloomy  precincts. 

The  wall  surrounding  the  park  on  all  sides  was 
some  twelve  feet  high,  the  top  strewn  with  splin- 
tered glass  imbedded  in  cement.  The  bottom 
being  about  three  feet  in  thickness,  caused  the  small 
iron-postern  recessed  close  to  the  ground  to  be 
hardly  noticeable  even  in  daytime.  So  when  the 
wife  reached  the  wall  and  not  coming  directly  upon 
the  postern  she  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn. 
Groping  along  toward  the  southern  end  she  went 
away  from  it,  and  when  she  crept  back  to  where 
she  left  the  wood,  her  breath  came  in  little  gasps. 
When  she  stopped  she  trembled  so  that  she  could 
scarcely  stand. 

Suddenly  her  hand  went  into  a  recess — it  was 
the  postern — not  far  from  the  wall's  north  end. 
[223] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
Taking  a  key  from  a  purse  hanging  to  Her  girdle 
she  inserted  it  and  then — sank  down  upon  the 
ground  and  cried.  She  sobbed,  shuddered  and 
laughed;  she  smiled  and  cried  at  the  same  time. 
One  listening  could  not  have  told  whether  it  was 
laughter  crying,  or  sobs  laughing.  There  was  no 
bitterness  in  her  tears,  no  joy  in  her  mirth.  If 
asked,  she  could  not  have  told  whether  she  were 
gay  or  sad;  whether  she  thought  of  the  man  wait- 
ing, waiting,  restlessly  just  beyond  the  wall  or  an 
old  man  slumbering  happily  in  the  palace  behind 
her.  Finally  she  got  up,  turned  the  key,  shoved 
open  the  postern,  then  sat  down  upon  the  thres- 
hold and  should  have  cried  again  had  not  the 
Breton,  waiting  since  the  beginning  of  darkness 
nearby  the  gate,  came  and  touched  her  shyly  upon 
the  shoulder.  She  looked  up  and  in  an  instant  her 
face  was  illumined  with  radiant  smiles;  the  world 
around  her  with  all  of  its  terrors  and  dangers  was 
now  unseen,  unheard.  Reaching  up  her  hand  she 
rested  it  timidly  upon  his  arm ;  looking  up  into  his 
face  she  laughed,  gently,  doubtfully,  yet  reassur- 
ingly. 

A  short  way  down  the  street  a  sedan  waited,  and 
thither  the  Breton  led  her.  The  bearers,  lifting  the 
chair  lightly  on  their  shoulders,  started  off,  the 
Breton  on  one  side,  the  man  Tsang  on  the  other. 
They  moved  uncertainly  through  the  narrow  tor- 
tuous streets,  some  black  and  empty  and  along  these 
[224] 


THE    PROPITIATION 

they  hastened.  Others  ablaze  with  lights  were  filled 
with  slow-moving  crowds  and  deafened  by  all  the 
noises  of  this  night  and  along  these  they  moved 
with  difficulty.  Not  far  from  the  Magistracy  of 
Kwanghoi  they  came  to  a  street  half-dim  with 
flickering  lanterns  and  in  which  were  but  few 
pedestrians.  Being  half-lighted  and  yet  deserted 
gave  the  bearers  an  opportunity  to  increase  their 
speed  to  the  utmost,  and  even  in  passing  right- 
angled  streets  they  did  not  alter  their  gait. 

Suddenly  an  official  green-sedan  followed  by  a 
retinue  turned  the  corner.  The  men  that  should 
have  preceded  and  announced  its  approach  had, 
owing  to  the  density  of  the  crowds  in  an  adjoining 
street,  been  forced  back  to  its  side.  And  in  the 
collision,  which  was  unavoidable,  owing  to  the 
speed  of  the  wife's  bearers,  the  green-sedan  was 
overthrown,  the  head  of  its  occupant  striking  the 
pavement  through  the  side  window. 

Hardly  a  moment  elapsed  before  the  two  sedans, 
their  bearers  and  retinues  were  surrounded  by  a 
crowd  of  men  and  of  boys.  This  crowd,  decipher- 
ing the  official  name  on  the  tablets  borne  by 
members  of  his  retinue,  at  once  began  their 
abuse. 

It  was  a  wild  scene.  Around  the  sedan  and  of- 
ficial, who  sat  dazed  on  the  pavement — a  bundle  of 
red  satin  and  gold — huddled  his  frightened  retinue 
with  torches  and  trembling  lanterns,  while  about 
[225] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
them  laughed  and  yelped  and  glowered  this  crowd 
of  the  night. 

"  Is  it  a  man  or  a  woman?  "  chirped  an  imp. 

"It  is  a  general!" 

"What!  He  looks  like  a  midwife." 

Everybody  now  began,  heeding  no  one,  listen- 
ing to  no  one,  but  pouring  forth  that  abuse  that 
is  heaped  by  all  people  upon  masters  cowed  before 
the  terror  of  numbers. 

A  Chinese  mob  is  peculiar,  though  they  are  in- 
nocent of  the  fact.  Just  what  it  is  going  to  do  is 
uncertain ;  like  sea-waves,  it  depends  upon  the  way 
some  little  gust  blows.  Truculent,  docile,  smiling, 
sombre,  gay,  and  destructive — such  are  they  in 
almost  as  many  minutes.  At  once  childishly 
curious,  peering,  chattering,  laughing;  then  taci- 
turn, gloomy,  defiant  and  over  whom  broods  a 
scowl  that  is  terrible.  They  never  know  just 
what  is  coming,  whether  it  will  be  laughter  or 
annihilation.  They  delight  in  this  uncertainty  and 
their  victims  cringe  before  it. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is  a  he." 

"  What !  don't  you  see  the  Golden  Lion  on  his 
breast?" 

"  Beasts  often  mount  the  breasts  of  women." 

"  Do  you  know,"  howled  a  voice  authoritatively, 
"  that  more  generals  are  killed  by  falling  from 
sedans  than  in  battle?" 

"  They  are  so  fat." 

[226] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

"  And  so  soft." 

"  Whoever  noticed  what  things  follow  them  ?  " 

"Leeches!" 

"Lice!" 

"Sores!" 

"Vermin!" 

"Toads!" 

"Offal!" 

"  Somebody  help  the  woman-general  up." 

"  Dust  his  skirts." 

"  Wipe  off  the  spit." 

The  officer  rose  with  difficulty,  purple,  speech- 
less. His  retinue  fell  back  terror-stricken,  and  the 
bearers  of  the  wife's  sedan  skipped  nimbly  away. 
His  rage,  however,  only  gave  new  impetus  to  the 
crowd's  joy.  They  yelped,  groaned,  sighed  and 
begged  piteously  for  someone  to  help  the  officer 
get  mad. 

"  It  is  a  known  fact,"  rose  a  howl  above  the 
rest,  "  that  a  general  can  never  get  in  a  rage." 

"Poke  him!" 

"Punch  him!" 

The  crowd  was  getting  dangerous.  A  silence  fell 
upon  it. 

"  Get  the  general  his  fan;  he  is  going  now." 

The  danger  passed  and  once  more  the  crowd  was 

full   of   amused   wonder   as   the    official   glaring 

around,  suddenly  pounces  upon  the  wife's  sedan. 

Encouraged  and  jeered  on  by  the  crowd's  boister- 

[227] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
ous  hoots,  he  reached  in  and  grabbed  the  wife  by 
the  arm,  but  as  she  rose  out  of  her  sedan  his  hand 
fell. 

The  crowd  became  as  still  as  solitude  itself — a 
silence  of  swaying  lanterns  and  glare  of  torch.  For 
a  long  time  in  this  perfect  stillness  the  mob  looked 
breathlessly  upon  her,  then  there  went  over  them 
a  soft  whispering  sound  that  might  have  been  a 
sigh.  At  this  sound  the  officer,  who  had  fallen 
back  astonished,  muttered  so  that  those  around  him 
heard: 

"  Tai  Lin's  wife." 

As  he  spoke  she  tossed  her  head  disdainfully, 
reaching  out  her  hand  to  the  Breton,  who 
stood  bewildered  beside  her,  taking  hold  of  his 
arm  and  with  calm,  scornful  hauteur  shining  in 
her  eyes,  she  walked  slowly  past  the  officer.  The 
mob  fell  back  as  she  approached,  leaving  a  1'ane 
through  their  centre,  and  at  the  end  of  this  ter- 
rible passage  of  lights  and  faces  Tsang  joined 
them.  Seizing  the  arm  of  the  Breton  he  whispered: 

"Hurry!" 

A  short  distance  down  the  street  he  led  them 
into  a  doorway,  passed  up  some  steps  along  a  black 
corridor;  down  other  steps,  into  a  court,  across  this 
through  another  passage,  thence  out  into  a  street. 
As  they  gained  this  thoroughfare  they  heard  a  dull 
cry: 

"  A  priest  has  stolen  Tai  Lin's  wife !  " 
[228] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

"  Kill  him  1  " 

"Close  the  gates!" 

"  We  must  run,"  cried  Tsang. 

The  Breton  looked  down  at  the  wife  and  said, 
softly : 

"  I  will  carry  you." 

Smilingly  as  a  child  she  lifted  her  hands  to  him 
and  he  picked  her  up  in  his  arms. 

The  two  men  ran  with  all  their  speed  along  this 
black  alley  of  a  street  until  Tsang  suddenly  dis- 
appeared through  a  doorway.  The  flight  now  lay 
through  corridors  like  tunnels  and  courts  like 
abysses.  In  the  neighbouring  streets  they  could 
hear  dully  the  wild  cries  of  their  pursuers,  mingled 
with  crash  of  gongs,  cymbals,  blare  of  music  and 
explosion  of  crackers.  In  leaving  one  labyrinth  of 
corridors,  tunnels,  stairs,  and  pits  they  crossed  nar- 
row streets  or  continued  along  them  for  a  short 
distance  only  again  to  disappear  into  depths,  which 
would  have  been  appalling  had  they  not  been  wel- 
come. 

These  by-streets  that  they  crossed  were  mostly 
dark;  even  in  those  where  lanterns  swayed  most  of 
the  lights  had  flickered  or  gone  out.  So  that  their 
flight  was  as  through  some  strange  and  terrible 
cavern ;  strange  because  it  consisted  of  doorways, 
passages,  courts,  cellars,  stairs,  and  streets;  brick, 
stone,  mud,  and  sky;  terrible  because  all  of  this 
had  been  dug  out  and  piled  up  by  man,  the  same 
[229] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
wild  ferocious  beast  who  now  hunted  and  bayed  in 
the  distance. 

Fortunately  the  man  Tsang  had  also  spent  his 
gamin  days  in  this  same  monstrous  labyrinth  and 
he  knew  all  of  its  intricacies,  its  short  cuts  and 
secrets,  its  pits,  stinks,  and  tunnels. 

"  We  may  reach  the  Gate  of  Virtue  before  it 
closes — if  Fate  wills  it,"  he  mumbled  nonchalantly. 

"  If  not "  He  did  not  finish.  As  they  started 

to  emerge  from  a  doorway  he  stopped  them. 

"  The  Gate  is  near  here.  I  will  see  if  it  is 
closed." 

The  Breton  did  not  reply  nor  move  out  of  the 
doorway.  The  wife  snuggled  happily  on  his  shoul- 
der. Neither  seemed  to  know  that  they  were  out  in 
the  night,  pursued  with  hardly  a  chance  to  escape; 
to-night  darkness  and  joy;  to-morrow  light  and 
death. 

The  wild  echoes  of  the  chase  drew  nearer. 

Sometimes  the  wife  lifted  her  head  slightly,  only 
to  nestle  more  tightly  upon  his  shoulder,  more 
closely  against  his  neck.  Had  someone  said, 
"Where  are  you?"  the  Breton  could  not  have 
answered.  And  had  Tsang  not  returned  they 
would  have  remained  under  the  doorway  until 
awakened  by  the  elbowing  mobs  of  day. 

"  The  Gate  is  closed.  Such  is  Fate,"  said  a  voice 
coming  unconcernedly  out  of  the  darkness.  "  They 
are    all    closed,"    the    voice    continues    serenely. 
[230] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

"Thus  Fate  lights.  Who  can  escape?  Who  can 
escape?  In  a  little  while  it  will  all  be  over. 
Hiyah !  "  and  Tsang  sat  down  on  the  threshold. 

The  smile  did  not  go  away  from  the  Breton's 
lips:  the  wife  did  not  cease  to  nestle  contentedly 
upon  his  shoulder. 

Suddenly  Tsang  sprang  to  his  feet,  gave  a  few 
dramatic  cavorts,  and  then  shaking  the  Breton 
vigorously  by  the  arm,  cries : 

"  They  will  never  think  of  the  Water-gate. 
Such  is  Fate — come  I  " 

Unhesitatingly  the  Breton  followed,  carrying 
his  precious  burden.  Again  their  flight  skirted  a 
maze  of  lanterns  still  glowing  in  the  principal 
streets,  then  stumbled  along  through  bewildering 
labyrinths  of  blackness;  beholding  for  an  instant  a 
starry  thread  of  sky,  then  plunging  underground. 

They  emerged  upon  a  canal,  which  at  their  feet 
looked  like  an  abyss,  while  in  other  parts  it  re- 
flected charmingly  the  gay  lanterns  swaying  from 
slipper  boats;  swinging,  dangling  rhythmically  to 
the  sinuous  movements  of  the  gondoliers. 

"  Sampan !  "  called  Tsang  in  a  matter-of-fact 
voice. 

"  Hi !  Hi !  "  shouted  several  simultaneously. 

"  Three  people  to  the  Gardens." 

"  That  is  a  long  way,"  they  commented. 

"  I  could  walk  there  in  twenty  minutes  if  it  were 
land." 

[231] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  But  it  isn't  land,"  they  joyfully  responded. 

"How  much?"  he  continued  unconcernedly. 

"  I  am  busy  and  ought  not  to  stop  and  waste  my 
time  talking,"  answered  one. 

"  I  have  an  all  night  engagement,"  added  an- 
other. 

"  I  was  just  going  to  moor  my  boat,"  interjected 
a  third,  "  but  since  you  are  in  difficulty,  I  will  stop 
and  give  you  some  advice." 

"How  much?"  repeated  Tsang. 

"This  is  our  Great  Feast  night,"  remarked 
one. 

"  That  is  so,"  chimed  in  the  other  two. 

From  the  distance  came  the  inarticulate  baying 
of  men. 

"How  much?"  reiterated  Tsang  wearily. 

"  Do  you  hear  him  ask  how  much?  "  cried  one 
turning  surprisedly  to  the  others. 

"  How  strange !  "  they  commented. 

"  It  was  eight  mace,  but  having  a  knowledge  of 
benevolence,  we  have  reduced  it  to  seven  mace 
three  candareens,"  added  the  first  speaker. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  a  fool  or  a  hill-man?" 
demanded  Tsang  with  scorn. 

"How  will  you  go  to  the  Gardens?"  they 
chorused  derisively. 

"  We  will  not  go,"  he  answered,  moving  back 
from  the  bank. 

"  I  will  be  benevolent,"  cried  one,  suddenly 
[232] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

moving  his  boat  past  the  others,  "  and  take  you  for 
six  mace,  four " 

"  Six  mace,  three  candareens." 

"  Six  mace,  two "  bellowed  the  third,  trying 

to  get  his  boat  nearer. 

Tsang  paid  no  attention  to  them  and  the  price 
was  howled  lower  and  lower. 

"  Five  mace,"  yelped  the  first,  and  without  a 
word  Tsang  jumped  into  his  "boat.  The  Breton  and 
the  wife  sat  down  in  the  middle  of  the  sampan  and 
drew  over  them  the  curved  bamboo  roof.  As  the 
boat  shot  out  into  the  canal  it  was  followed  by  a 
vituperative  volley  from  the  others. 

Tsang  stood  by  the  boatman  urging  him  on. 

"  There  is  a  riot,"  he  whispered,  "  and  all  the 
gates  have  been  closed  except  the  Water-gate.  But 
don't  think  we  are  going  to  pay  just  to  go  there. 
Only  when  we " 

From  distant  streets  came  cries : 

"  Down  with  the  Water-gate  I  Down  with  the 
Water-gate  I  " 

The  Breton  and  the  wife  sat  in  the  darkness  un- 
der the  bamboo  canopy.  Neither  had  spoken  nor 
ceased  to  smile.  Never  in  their  lives  had  they 
thought  of  anything  so  happy  as  this  night  journey. 

The  Water-gate  loomed  up  before  Tsang  and 
the  boatman;  they  could  see  the  lanterns  swaying 
on  the  eaves  of  its  guardhouse.  Plainly  now  came 
the  cries: 

[233] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  Down  with  the  Water-gate !  " 

The  pursuers  were  gaining. 

Strenuously  the  boatman  bent  to  his  long  oar; 
his  breath  came  in  hoarse  gasps  and  the  perspira- 
tion running  from  his  face  shone  in  the  lantern's 
light.  The  sinews  in  his  arms  and  bared  back 
swelled,  knotted,  quivered,  strained.  Tsang  stood 
by  reiterating  that  if  he  did  not  get  through  the 
gate  he  would  not  get  to  the  Gardens,  and  how 
then  would  it  be  possible  to  get  the  five  mace?  So 
the  boatman  swayed  back  and  forth  the  great  oar 
with  all  his  strength,  and  the  sampan,  trembling, 
shot  sinuously  forward. 

The  baying  of  men  drew  nearer,  and  as  they 
darted  under  the  bridge  which  spanned  the  canal 
in  front  of  the  Water-gate,  they  saw  the  guards 
running  out  of  neighbouring  towers  and  mount  the 
ramparts. 

The  cavernous  exit  loomed  before  them.  And  as 
the  quivering  boat  darted  under  the  tower,  they 
heard  above  them  commands,  cries,  and  the  creak- 
ing of  chains. 

From  a  boat  by  night  this  exit  of  the  Water- 
gate looks  like  a  monstrous  maw,  and  the  port- 
cullis outlined  by  the  lights  of  the  suburbs  appear 
as  its  jagged,  gigantic  teeth.  And  these  teeth 
Tsang  and  the  boatman  saw  move  above  them  and 
heard  their  grind.  But  under  the  bamboo  canopy 
there  were  still  smiles,  smiles  by  no  means  lost  in 
[234] 


•THE   PROPITIATION 

the  blackness.  These  two  were  blissful  under  the 
very  crunch  of  Fate's  teeth.  As  the  boat  glided 
forward  under  the  impulse  of  its  own  momentum 
they  were  unconscious  of  a  great  splash  just  behind 
them  and  cries  that  the  gate  was  down. 

The  boatman,  panting,  rested  momentarily  on 
his  oar,  then  without  a  word  continued  along  the 
dark,  winding  course  until  the  river  was  reached. 
Here  was  a  mass  of  boats,  which  seemed  limitless, 
an  interminable  tangle  and  barrier.  But  as  the 
sampan  approached  the  gondolier  shouted  out  his 
strange  cries  and  a  narrow  lane  parted  to  let  his 
boat  creep  through,  while  unconcernedly  he  ac- 
cepted the  railing  and  scolding  of  the  old  boat- 
women. 

The  sampan  pushed  out  into  the  current  of  the 
great  river  and  the  gondolier  turned  its  bow  up- 
stream. 

"  Cross  over  to  the  south  bank,"  commanded 
Tsang. 

"  The  Gardens  are  on  the  north  bank." 

"  I  have  changed  my  mind.  I  wish  to  go  to  a 
friend's  boat." 

So  they  crossed  the  river,  and  the  boatman,  fol- 
lowing Tsang's  directions,  brought  up  beside  a 
fair-sized  river  craft  anchored  in  the  outer  ring  of 
boats  that  lined  the  bank. 

No  sooner  has  the  Breton  and  the  wife  seated 
themselves  under  the  bamboo  in  their  new  boat, 
[235] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
still  smiling  and  silent,  than  Tsang  raised  the  mat- 
sail  and  under  the  impetus  of  the  river  wind,  their 
vessel  moved  along  the  westward  against  the  Chu 
Kiang's  rolling,  gloomy  flood. 

The  river  upon  this  night  presented  an  appear- 
ance fantastic  yet  beautiful.  Its  population  seemed 
greater  than  that  of  the  city,  for  its  whole  surface 
was  covered  by  a  myriad  of  boats;  some  built  as 
birds,  some  as  fishes;  others  as  houses  richly  orna- 
mented and  resplendent  with  carved  and  gilded 
work.  On  all  of  these  strange  craft  moving  rest- 
lessly about  were  hung  unnumbered  lanterns.  As 
they  passed  in  and  out  amongst  each  other  these 
brilliant  lights  of  every  colour,  fancy  and  shape, 
swaying,  quivering,  dancing,  turned  night's  gloom 
— which  broods  so  cumbrously  upon  this  river — 
into  a  fluttering,  iridescent  day,  while  from  flower- 
boats,  bazaars,  and  gondolas  came  incessant  strains 
of  music,  the  song  and  laughter  of  women. 

Suddenly  over  the  laughter  of  this  night  there 
fell  upon  the  ears  of  Tsang,  as  he  sat  on  the 
high  poop  with  the  tiller  in  his  hand,  a  dull 
roar,  a  baying  of  multitudes  that  came  from  the 
city. 

"  Fate  alone  knows,"  he  muttered. 

A  turn  southward  and  the  lights  vanished:  in  a 

short  time  the  sounds  of  revelry  and  that  growl 

from  the  city  were  heard  no  more.  About,  all  was 

darkness  other  than  here  and  there  a  light  on  the 

[236] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

banks  and  stars  shining  kindly  overhead.  No  voice 
was  heard  but  the  monologue  of  the  river  and  occa- 
sionally the  nasal  song  of  a  river-man  whose  wild 
and  melancholy  tones  echoed  from  bank  to  bank. 
Thus  they  journeyed  on  to  the  Grotto  of  the 
Sleepless  Dragon. 


[237] 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE    PROPITIATION    OF    THE    GODS    OF 
THE   WATERS— CONTINUED 

IN  the  southern  suburbs,  almost  under  the 
shadow  of  the  city  walls  and  midway  be- 
tween the  Dragon  Gate  on  the  right  and  the 
Great  Bamboo  Gate  on  the  left,  once  stood  a 
Lodge  of  the  Tien  Tu  Hin,  generally  known  as 
the  Guild  Hall  of  the  Merchants  of  Kiang,  since 
it  is  the  custom  of  merchants  from  the  same  locality 
to  have  their  guilds  where  they  meet  for  business 
and  pleasure.  So  this  custom,  beneficial  in  more 
ways  than  one,  was  made  to  serve  as  an  excuse — a 
protection  to  the  children  of  the  Deluge  Family. 
The  buildings  of  the  Lodge — or  Guild  Hall — 
were  surrounded  by  an  high  wall  having  a  granite 
gateway  on  the  street  parallel  with  the  city  walls 
connected  the  two  thoroughfares  that  extended 
through  the  Gates  of  the  Dragon  and  the  Great 
Bamboo.  Between  the  entrances  and  the  buildings 
was  a  wide  court  paved  with  granite  slabs,  while 
a  number  of  banian  trees  half  hid  in  their  foliage 
the  many  buildings  of  granite,  glazed  brick,  and 
curved  dragon  eaves,  separated  by  a  series  of 
courts  and  connected  with  corridors.  The  main  en- 
[238] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

trance  opposite  the  gateway  was  reached  by  a  broad 
flight  of  steps  flanked  by  two  bronze  lions.  In  the 
first  buildings  of  this  Guild  Hall  were  reception 
and  smoking  rooms,  libraries,  offices,  and  other 
apartments  necessary  to  such  an  association.  But 
back  of  these,  beyond  another  court,  stood  other 
buildings,  windowless  and  forbidding,  where  un- 
known chambers  held  in  their  darkened  recesses  the 
secrets  and  terrors  of  the  Tien  Tu  Hin. 

As  it  happened  the  night  of  the  Propitiation  of 
the  Gods  of  the  Waters  fell  on  the  night  of  initia- 
tion in  this  secret  lodge  on  the  street  of  Changsha. 
So  just  about  the  same  hour  when  the  wife  was 
creeping  fearfully  through  the  still,  dark  park, 
others  of  mankind  were  slinking  along  through  the 
shadows  of  the  city  walls  and  vanishing  under  the 
granite  gate. 

It  was  a  strange  gathering  that  slunk  under  the 
portals  of  that  gloomy  entrance :  men  in  long  silken 
robes,  men  in  rags;  merchants,  thieves,  sailors, 
scholars,  artisans,  soldiers,  pirates.  Men  with  soft 
white  hands,  pale  faces  and  delicate  in  their  cour- 
tesies, mingled  brotherly  with  others  almost  black 
from  storms  and  exposure;  brawny,  brusque,  som- 
bre, ferocious. 

After  the  second  hour  of  darkness  had  passed 
the  outer  gates  were  closed;  and  when  the  pon- 
derous doors  at  the  top  of  the  Lion  steps  had  been 
bolted,  a  gong  sounded  hoarsely  from  some  un- 
[239] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
known  depths  and  before  its  deep  echoes  had  ended 
this  motley  congregation  of  men  standing  about 
talking,  smoking,  disappeared,  utterly  vanished, 
so  that  there  was  not  to  be  seen  in  all  the  Guild 
Hall  man,  rag,  nor  robe. 

Presently  the  gong  mumbled  again;  slowly, 
measuredly,  five  times  this  gong  sounded,  and  as 
suddenly  as  they  had  vanished  there  sprang  out  of 
recesses,  crevices  and  walls  fecundite,  a  new  race  of 
men.  When  they  disappeared  they  had  had  queues 
and  shaven  heads,  now  they  came  forth  without 
them  and  about  their  crowns  were  turbans  of 
red  silk.  A  wild  medley  of  satins  and  tatters  had 
gone  into  the  hidden  places,  but  there  came  out  an 
assembly  all  gorgeous  in  the  antique  robes  of  the 
Mings,  so  that  it  could  not  now  be  known  who 
had  come  in  rags,  who  in  silks. 

Again  cymbals  crashed,  and  the  assembly  ar- 
ranged itself  by  twos  other  than  at  the  head,  and 
there  one  man  marched  alone,  preceded  by  guards 
carrying  upright  heavy  double-edged  swords. 
This  man,  who  walked  alone,  was  the  Great  Elder 
Brother — the  Grand  Master  of  the  Lodge.  Be- 
hind him  followed  the  Incense  Master  and  In- 
structor; then  the  Third  Elder  Brother  and  Cham- 
pion, after  whom  came  the  General  of  the  Van 
and  the  Red  Club;  these  were  followed  by  the 
Five  Generals,  the  Tiger  Generals,  the  Eight 
Guards,  the  Iron  Soles  and  members. 
[240] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

Slowly,  solemnly,  in  time  with  the  dirge-like 
booming  of  gongs  and  crash  of  cymbals  the  pro- 
cession moved  out  of  the  first  buildings,  along  the 
corridors  flanking  the  court  and  disappeared 
through  an  opening  beyond.  After  passing 
through  a  number  of  chambers  and  corridors  they 
came  to  an  entrance  before  which  stood  guards 
with  drawn  swords.  The  Guards  preceding  the 
Great  Elder  Brother  stood  h'ce  to  face  before 
them  and  then  silently  exchanged  swords.  They 
now  entered  the  first  anteroom,  at  the  far  end 
of  which  was  another  guarded  door.  Again  the 
same  solemn  transfer  of  swords  was  gone  through 
with,  and  the  procession  passed  on  into  the  second 
anteroom  where,  as  before,  swords  were  passed 
and  the  Great  Elder  Brother  led  the  way  into  the 
'hird  anteroom,  at  the  far  end  of  which  were  two 
iron  doors.  As  the  guards  pulled  these  back 
there  opened  before  them  a  huge  Hall  of  Shadows. 

The  appearance  of  this  Hall  was  such  as  to  in- 
spire terror.  Just  beyond  the  doors,  extending 
their  whole  width,  stretched  a  fiery  moat,  out  of 
which  flames  leaped  and  crackled;  in  its  depths 
the  heat  glowed  white  and  green.  Across  this 
burning  ditch,  through  the  middle  of  the  door- 
way, was  a  bridge  of  two  planks,  one  copper,  the 
other  iron — symbolic  of  the  bridge  thrown  down 
by  the  Immortal  Tahtsunye  and  by  which  the  Five 
Patriarchs  escaped  from  Shaolintze.  Over  this 
[241] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
bridge  hung  an  arch  of  pendent  swords  glowing 
and  quivering  with  the  heat  that  rose  from  the 
furnace  below.  The  only  lights  in  the  Hall — un- 
less the  stars  are  numbered — were  the  ditch  of 
fire  and  in  the  centre  two  iron  racks,  where  blazed 
bundles  of  fagots  and  which  gave  an  uncertain 
enormity  to  the  shadows  within.  On  the  sides  were 
cavernous  openings,  in  the  floor  abysses.  The  ceil- 
ing other  than  over  the  fiery  ditch  and  fagots, 
was  also  full  of  uncertain  shadows.  In  the  far  left- 
hand  corner,  hardly  perceptible  in  this  glaring 
dust,  glowed  like  a  blinking  eye  a  taper  on  the 
Shrine  of  the  God  of  War.  Opposite  in  the  dark- 
ness of  the  right-hand  corner  beamed  another  eye 
on  the  Altar  of  the  Goddess  of  Mercy.  Then  there 
was  the  taper  of  the  God  of  Earth  and  five  tapers 
on  the  Shrines  of  the  Five  Patriarchs. 

In  the  centre  of  the  hall  but  beyond  the  braziers 
of  fagots  stood  the  Great  Shrine,  flanked  on  the 
left  by  a  representation  of  Kaochi  Temple — where 
the  Five  Patriarchs  met  the  founder  of  the  Deluge 
Family,  Chen  Chinan,  and  on  the  right  by  a  minia- 
ture nine-story  pagoda.  In  front  of  the  Great 
Shrine  was  a  lesser  altar  on  which  were  placed 
the  symbols  of  the  Tien  Tu  Hin:  symbols  that 
have  been  revered  by  countless  millions  for  nearly 
two  centuries  and  a  half — symbols  the  world  may 
dread.  On  the  smaller  altar  lay  a  stone  incense 
vessel  engraved  with  four  large  characters,  Fuh 
[242] 


THE    PROPITIATION 

Tsing,  Fa  Ming.  In  the  centre  was  a  Peck  of  Rice 
known  as  Muyangfu,  in  which  were  stuck  the  flags 
of  the  Five  Grand  Sections  of  the  Deluge  Family 
and  the  banner  of  the  Commander-in-chief.  On 
one  side  was  placed  a  Red  Club,  having  a  phoenix 
engraved  on  one  end  and  a  dragon  on  the 
other. 

On  each  corner  of  the  altar  stood  a  dwarf  Cedar 
and  Pine  tree,  symbolical  of  fidelity  in  oaths.  Be- 
tween them,  ranged  alternately  on  each  side  of 
the  Muyangfu,  was  a  red  lamp  to  discern  the 
True  from  the  False;  a  seven-starred  broadsword 
indicating  that  by  the  sword  the  Manchus  will 
succumb  and  the  Mings  be  restored;  a  Rule  by 
which  men  can  measure  their  conduct;  a  Pair  of 
Scales  to  weigh  Ming  against  Tsing,  the  True 
against  the  Traitors ;  an  Abacus  to  reckon  the  time 
for  their  destruction;  a  Mirror,  as  was  handed 
down  by  Nu  Wo,  to  show  who  are  good  and  who 
are  evil;  a  White  Fan  for  calling  together  the 
members  of  the  Deluge  Family;  a  Pair  of  Scissors 
for  ripping  open  the  black  clouds  that  obscure  the 
Ming  sky;  and  finally  a  huge  double-edged  sword 
by  which  the  disobedient  and  traitorous  are  put 
to  death.  The  roof  in  front  of  the  shrine  and  be- 
tween the  braziers  was  open  and  the  stars  shone 
down  into  shadows  filled  with  terror;  into  that 
silence  where  man  broods. 

Silently  the  procession  entered  this  vast  hall, 
[243] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
which  at  one  time  had  appeared  to  them  all  as  a 
colossal  deep  of  doom.  The  Great  Elder  Brother, 
the  Incense  Master  and  Instructor  took  their 
places  before  the  Great  Shrine,  the  other  officers 
ranging  themselves  in  order  to  the  rear. 

Solemnly  the  Grand  Master  lifted  up  the  Peck 
of  Rice  called  Muyangfu,  and  as  he  placed  it  on 
the  Greater  Shrine  the  officers  behind  him  chanted 
their  mystic  verses.  Then  in  the  same  manner  he 
raised  the  Tripod,  the  Abacus,  the  Mirror,  the 
Pine  and  Cedar  trees,  the  Scales  and  Discerning 
Lamp,  the  White  Fan  and  Cloud-Ripping  Scis- 
sors. After  all  the  symbols  had  been  placed 
on  the  Great  Altar,  and  the  Incense  Master  had 
lighted  the  incense  in  the  Stone  Tripod  and  before 
each  tablet  of  the  Five  Patriarchs,  the  whole  as- 
sembly fell  on  their  knees,  chanting  a  requiem 
mysterious,  known  to  none  but  them. 

The  Great  Elder  Brother  now  took  his  seat 
under  the  open  space  in  the  roof,  so  that  the  Eyes 
of  Heaven  could  look  down  upon  him  and  see 
that  his  acts  were  just.  The  Incense  Master  sat 
on  his  left;  the  Instructor  on  his  right;  then  the 
Third  Elder  Brother  on  the  left  of  the  Incense 
Master;  the  Champion  on  the  right  of  the  In- 
structor; thus  they  arranged  themselves:  the  Gen- 
eral of  the  Van,  the  Red  Club,  the  Five  Generals 
and  Tiger  Generals,  the  Eight  Guards  and  the 
Iron  Soles,  while  at  the  end  of  the  iron  and  copper 
[244] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

bridge,  under  the  arch  of  pendant  swords,  stood 
other  guards.  The  whole  assembly  was  arranged 
in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  the  Great  Elder  Brother 
being  in  the  centre,  behind  him  the  Great  Shrine, 
on  his  right  and  left  the  braziers  of  fagots,  be- 
fore him  the  fiery  moat;  above — the  stars  of 
Heaven. 

In  the  first  anteroom  waited  the  uninitiated, 
dressed  in  rough  clothing,  their  queues  unplaited 
and  their  shoes  removed.  The  Guards  stationed 
at  the  entrance  of  the  second  anteroom  demanded 
of  them  why  they  came,  and  they  replied  that  they 
understood  soldiers  were  wanted  and  they  came 
to  enlist. 

The  Guards  demanded  who  asked  them  to 
come,  and  they  replied  that  they  came  on  their  own 
accord. 

The  sponsors  of  the  candidates  now  led  them 
into  the  second  anteroom,  where  the  guards  de- 
manded whence  they  came,  and  to  which  they  re- 
plied: "  From  the  East."  The  names  of  their  spon- 
sors were  taken  and  the  Guards  warned  them 
that  they  would  have  dangers  and  hardships  to 
endure;  that  the  food  they  were  to  eat  would  be 
three  parts  rice  and  seven  parts  sand,  to  which 
they  replied : 

f  "  Yu  sha,  king  sha,  wu  sha  king  kiang  " — "  if 
there  is  sand  we  will  farm  it;  if  there  is  no  sand, 
we  will  farm  waves." 

[245] 


THE  VERMILION    PENCIL 

In  the  third  anteroom  the  Guards  asked  them 
this  terrible  conundrum : 

"Which  is  harder,  the  sword  or  your  necks?" 

They  answered:  "Our  necks." 

The  jackets  of  the  candidates  were  unbuttoned, 
their  right  arms  and  shoulders  bared  and  five 
lighted  tapers  of  incense  placed  in  their  hands. 

The  General  of  the  Van  advanced  and  con- 
ducted them,  walking  on  their  knees,  to  the  inner 
door,  where  he  addressed  the  Guards: 

"Guards  of  the  Inner  Portal,  inform  the  In- 
cense Master  that  the  General  of  the  Van  con- 
ducts recruits  to  join  our  army  and  swear  broth- 
erhood. They  desire  to  take  Deluge  for  their  fam- 
ily name,  and  may  it  please  the  Incense  Master  to 
pray  before  the  Shrine  of  the  Five  Patriarchs  that 
they  may  gaze  down  upon  us  and  approve." 

The  Guards  replied  that  the  Five  Patriarchs 
commanded  Tien  Yu  Hung  to  enter. 

The  General  of  the  Van  passed  through  the 
Inner  Portal,  across  the  fiery  moat  and  addressed 
the  Incense  Master,  upon  which  ensued  an  end- 
less, mystic  dialogue,  sometimes  sounding  like  the 
chatter  of  children;  sometimes  like  the  ominous 
muttering  of  thunder.  It  was  occult,  inane,  full  of 
wonderful  and  dreadful  meaning,  cabalistic,  ridicu- 
lous, terrifying — all  depending  upon  who  listened. 
The  sizzling  of  a  fuse  is  amusing  to  a  child;  to  an 
old  soldier — death. 

[246] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

The  long  mysterious  debate  was  at  last  brought 
to  a  close  by  the  Incense  Master  ordering  the  Gen- 
eral of  the  Van  to  bring  the  candidates  upon  the 
bridge. 

The  doors  were  thrown  open  and  the  recruits 
led — still  walking  on  their  knees — through  the 
entrance. 

At  the  sight  of  the  burning  moat  they 
drew  back,  cringing  one  upon  another,  but  as  the 
General  of  the  Van  advanced  they  shuffled  after 
him,  the  tapers  trembling  in  their  hands.  When 
their  guide  reached  the  other  end  of  the  bridge 
he  stopped  and  they  were  obliged  to  remain 
crouching  on  the  planks  of  copper  and  iron ;  below 
them  a  furnace,  above  an  arch  of  swords  shud- 
dering in  the  heat  waves,  scintillating,  threaten- 
ing. 

The  Incense  Master  advanced  toward  them 
and,  crossing  his  arms  on  his  breast,  uttered  this 
prayer : 

"O  Imperial  Heaven,  O  Sovereign  Earth,  Ye 
Spirits  of  Fire;  Ye  Spirits  of  Hills  and  Streams, 
and  Land  and  Veins  of  the  Earth:  Ye  Five 
iDragon  Spirits  of  the  Five  Regions:  Lin  Ting, 
Lui  Chia,  Spirits  Attendant,  and  all  Ye  Holy 
Spirits  that  wander  through  endless  space,  draw 
near  to  us,  we  entreat! 

"Since  Fuh  created  this  Earth  all  has  prospered, 
and  what  the  Ancients  knew  they  have  given  down 
[247] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
to  succeeding  ages.  This  knowledge  we  have  re- 
ceived, we  are  about  to  impart. 

"Patriots  now  hang  on  the  Bridge  over  Fires. 
They  have  come  to  swear  to  Ye,  O  Imperial 
Heaven,  that  they  will  live  and  die  together.  That 
they  pledge  brotherhood  forever,  considering  sin- 
cerity the  basis;  kindness  and  righteousness  the 
Ruling  Principles;  filial  love  and  obedience  above 
all. 

"O  Ye  Five  Spirits,  throw  down  into  the  fire 
those  that  would  to-night  bring  discord  or  treason 
into  our  midst.  Let  those  that  hang  on  the  bridge 
know  that  no  distinction  of  mine  or  thine  can  be 
allowed  here. 

"To-night  we  will  kneel  in  front  of  the  Incense 
Tripod  and  cleanse  our  hearts,  mix  our  blood, 
swallow  the  mingled  blood-drinking  oath,  and 
swear  to  live  and  die  for  our  brotherhood — immu- 
table as  the  hills  and  seas. 

"Those  that  obey  shall  prosper;  those  that  are 
disobedient  shall  perish.  Those  that  assist  their 
country  in  establishing  Universal  Peace  shall  be 
ennobled  for  a  thousand  ages;  but  those  that  are 
traitors  shall  die  beneath  the  sword  and  their  race 
become  extinct. 

"O  Fuh  Teh,  Protector  of  the  people  and  famed 

eternally  for  thy  divine  benevolence;  and  Ye,  O 

Chung  I,  the  ten  thousand  ages  hero,  the  Recruiter 

and  Commander  of  the  valiant,  we  are  now  by 

[248] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

order  of  the  Five  Patriarchs  about  to  swear 
brotherhood  in  the  blood-testing  oath  of  our  soci- 
ety. May  Ye  Gods  in  your  wisdom  and  power 
make  clear  to  these  newcomers  that  it  matters  not 
what  is  their  human  relationship,  all  are  born 
anew  in  the  Deluge. 

"Again,  O  Fuh  Teh  and  Chung  I,  and  all  ye 
Intelligent  and  Discerning  Gods,  we  humbly  be- 
seech you  to  look  down  upon  us  while  we  take  the 
Thirty-six  Oaths  to  manifest  the  truthfulness  of 
our  hearts." 

The  candidates  on  the  bridge,  swaying  back 
and  forth,  crouched  and  clung  to  one  another. 
Panting  for  breath,  great  streams  of  perspiration 
ran  from  their  faces  and  shoulders,  their  eyes 
bulged  and  rolled.  Almost  overcome  by  the  heat 
and  fumes  that  rose  around  them,  each  appeared 
about  to  topple  off  into  the  furnace. 

The  delay  was  not  yet  ended. 

When  the  Incense  Master  ceased  his  prayer  two 
Iron  Soles  stepped  forward  and  received  from 
him  a  scroll  of  yellow  paper  about  six  feet  long  by 
two  broad,  on  which  were  written  the  Thirty- 
six  Oaths.  One  of  the  Iron  Soles  knelt  on  his  right 
knee  and  held  one  corner  in  his  right  hand,  while 
the  other  knelt  on  his  left  knee  and  held  the  other 
corner  with  his  left  hand. 

The  Incense  Master  and  members  knelt. 

During  the  silence  that  followed  there  pene- 
[249] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
trated  into  this  chamber  of  fire  and  shadows  a 
roar,  rumbling,  subsiding.  Only  the  men  on  the 
bridge  did  not  hear  this  ominous  growl. 

Slowly,  sombrely,  the  Incense  Master  read  off 
the  Thirty-six  Oaths — and  their  thirty-six  sen- 
tences of  death.  This  finished,  came  a  period  of 
silence,  then  the  members  rose  and  the  Iron  Soles 
stepped  forward  and  helped  the  candidates  from 
the  bridge.  Some  were  almost  unconscious,  others 
glared  stupidly  about  them. 

The  Iron  Soles,  leading,  supporting,  dragged 
them  to  the  Incense  Vessel  before  the  Shrine  of  the 
Five  Patriarchs,  where  each,  as  soon  as  able,  in- 
serted an  incense  taper  into  the  vessel  and  repeated 
as  best  he  could  five  verses.  Removing  their  tapers 
from  the  Incense  Vessel  they  dipped  them  into  a 
bowl  of  water  standing  next  to  the  tripod  and  as 
they  were  being  extinguished  repeated : 

"May  my  life  go  out  like  the  fire  of  these  in- 
cense tapers  if  I  prove  a  traitor  to  my  oath !" 

The  Thirty-six  Oaths  were  then  placed  in  the 
Incense  Vessel;  the  Incense  Master  took  the  basin 
and,  repeating  a  ritual,  dashed  it  upon  the  floor, 
whereupon  all  of  the  members  repeated  in  uni- 
son, sonorous,  ominous: 

"May  such  be  the  fate  of  traitors." 

The  Incense  Master  set  fire  to  the  Oaths  and  as 
the  flames  crept  up  the  scroll  there  came  again, 
nearer,  louder,  that  distant  growl. 
[250] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

The  Guards  led  the  candidates  beneath  the 
opening  through  which  shone  the  stars;  a  cock  was 
brought,  the  head  cut  off,  and  its  blood  poured 
into  the  bowl  in  which  the  incense  tapers  had  been 
extinguished.  The  Red  Club  now  advanced,  hold- 
ing in  one  hand  his  huge  weapon,  in  the  other  a 
flared,  black  blade.  The  two  guards  that  preceded 
him  seized  one  of  the  candidates  and  tore  off  his 
upper  garments,  leaving  him  naked  to  the  waist. 

The  roar,  now  nearer,  grumbled,  muttered,  then 
fell  silent.  But  as  the  Red  Club  lifted  his  blade 
there  came  a  terrific  crash,  followed  by  an  over- 
flow of  wild  noises  such  as  man  makes  in  his  rage. 

The  knife  hesitated. 

The  pent-up  floods  of  the  riot  that  had  swollen 
to  vast  proportions  after  the  cry  had  resounded 
over  the  city  that  Tai  Lin's  wife  had  been  stolen  by 
priests,  burst  almost  simultaneously  through  the 
three  southern  gates  and  dashing,  seeping  through 
the  suburban  streets,  converged  toward  the  Mis- 
sion. These  dark  streams,  with  flaming  wave 
crests,  gurgling  with  snarls,  yelps  and  threats; 
frothing,  eddying,  scowling,  soon  filled  the  street 
of  Changsha.  One  stream  had  burst  out  of  the 
Dragon  Gate,  another  out  of  the  gate  of  the  Great 
Bamboo,  and  the  overflow  of  these  two  torrents 
came  together  in  front  of  Lodge  of  the  Tien  Tu 
Hin.  The  noise  that  rose  when  they  came  together 
was  indescribable.  It  was  a  frightful  splash  of 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
snarls  and  curses;  a  splatter  of  taunts  and  growls, 
while  above  all,   distinguished  by  its  persistency 
and  vigour,  rose  a  common  howl : 

"Kill  the  priests." 

When  this  uproar  with  its  rage  and  strange  si- 
lences fell  upon  the  Children  of  the  Deluge  in 
their  Chamber  of  Shadows,  there  was  a  general 
movement.  Merchants  became  uneasy,  fearful  for 
their  stores;  thieves  became  desirous  for  plunder; 
soldiers  to  return  to  their  posts;  beggars  to  join 
the  rabble;  officials  to  their  Yamens;  pirates  to 
their  junks;  silk  robes  to  their  mansions,  but  the 
rags  would  not  return  that  night  to  their  cellars. 

The  Great  Elder  Brother  rose  from  his  seat; 
Guards  placed  themselves  in  front  of  him;  the  In- 
cense Master,  the  Instructor,  followed  by  all 
others,  took  their  places  and  the  procession  filed 
out  over  the  bridge  into  the  anteroom  as  solemnly 
and  silently  as  it  had  entered. 

The  vast  hall  was  empty.  The  fagots  in  the 
iron  racks  flamed,  flickered,  and  went  out.  The 
fiery  moat  glowed  white,  green,  lurid,  then  dark 
spots  began  to  creep  into  it.  After  a  while  only 
the  stars  shone  down  into  the  Chamber  of  the 
World's  Dread. 

The  overflow  from  the  Dragon  Gate,  being  less 
than  that  from  the  Great  Bamboo,  was  pushed 
back  until  there  was  a  general  commingling,  then 
the  whole  rushed  unresistingly  downward  toward 


THE   PROPITIATION 

the  river  and  westward  toward  the  Mission.  Other 
torrents,  chafing,  foaming,  hurled  themselves 
against  the  walls  of  their  narrow  channels  in  mad 
endeavour  to  reach  the  river's  edge  through  the 
labyrinthine  writhings  of  the  suburban  streets. 
Like  floods  restrained,  it  sometimes  appeared  as  if 
they  would  overflow  and  surge  straight  down 
across  the  roof  tops. 

It  was  the  rumble  of  these  torrents  just  after 
they  had  burst  through  the  city  gates  that  the  man 
Tsang  had  heard  as  he  sat  at  the  tiller.  And  had 
the  wind  not  been  strong  or  had  there  been  no 
bend  in  the  river,  he  would  soon  have  heard  a  roar 
more  ominous,  more  dreadful,  as  these  torrents  of 
howls  poured  into  the  basin  surrounding  the  Mis- 
sion. 

The  streets  north  and  east  of  the  Mission  Com- 
pound were  first  filled,  then  on  the  west.  And  when 
all  were  overflowing,  so  that  stragglers,  trickling, 
seeping  in,  were  being  pushed  back  in  the  direction 
whence  they  came ;  these  torrents  churned,  swirled, 
then  surged  out  into  the  open  space  between  the 
Mission  and  the  river. 

The  Compound  was  surrounded,  and  the  mob, 
as  a  sea,  billowed  and  splashed  against  its  walls. 
Like  a  great  rock  the  Mission  remained  silent, 
with  a  gloomy  hauteur,  a  scornful  taciturnity,  so 
that  these  waves  only  dashed  against  it  to  fall  back 
upon  themselves. 

[253] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

There  were  many  similarities  between  this  en- 
circling flood  of  man  with  wave  crests  of  flame 
and  roar  of  tongues  to  a  sea  of  waters.  For  this 
sea,  girdling,  eddying  around  the  granite  base  of 
that  gloomy  parallelogram,  ocean-like,  broke  and 
spattered.  It  had  its  froth  and  its  depths,  its 
calms  and  murmurs;  its  terrors;  its  tides  and  ebbs 
and  billows.  Sometimes  its  fire-crests,  like  those  in 
the  Bay  of  Tai  Wan,  moved  forward  in  uneven  un- 
dulations, then  hurled  against  the  granite  barriers, 
flowed  back  and  merged  with  another  tide.  Again 
these  waves  met  in  such  a  manner  as  to  form 
whirlpools  or  a  single  force  like  a  waterspout, 
only  here  a  howl  and  flame-spout  would  drive  its 
way  ruthlessly  through  the  waves  and,  lashing  it- 
self momentarily  against  the  walls,  subside  and 
mingle  with  the  rest.  This  sea  had  its  evaporations 
and  its  residue;  it  accumulated,  eroded  and  dissi- 
pated. But  it  howled  where  the  ocean  rumbled, 
snarled  where  it  roared,  and  where  the  sea  of 
waters  murmured  this  flood  talked  to  itself — a 
childish,  terrible  monologue. 

Said  one  wave  to  another: 

"What  are  you  here  for?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Will  you  kill?" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  asked  another. 

"That  is  what  we  are  going  to  find  out." 
[254] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

"Isn't  it  enough  to  know  that  this  place  must  be 
destroyed?" 

"That  is  true." 

"What  else  is  there  to  do  when  these  priests 
have  stolen  Tai  Lin's  wife?" 

"Neighbour,  I  tell  you  they  have  vanished.  Is 
it  in  accordance  with  reason  to  believe  that  they 
would  wait?" 

Where  this  sea  eddied  around  the  southwest 
corner  of  the  Mission,  the  tumult  of  one  wave  rose 
sonorously  above  the  rest. 

"O  Ye  Men  of  the  Middle  Kingdom,"  roared 
this  wave.  "Ye  who  have  trod  its  soil,  breathed 
the  air  of  its  Imperial  Heavens;  ye  who  have 
eaten  the  herb  of  its  fields  and  for  a  myriad  ages 
have  drunk  the  dew  of  its  benevolence,  how  long 
are  you  going  to  let  these  sea-imps  devour  your 
women  and  children  ?  How  long  are  you  going  to 
let  these  Western  devils  who  pretend  to  be  priests 
deceive  you?  Skin  them  of  their  robes  and  you 
will  find  that  they  are  bats  and  snakes,  who  smile 
but  to  devour. 

"Did  they  not  sneak  into  our  Kingdom  like 
night  monsters — these  proud  priests  of  the  Hun- 
gry God?  Answer,  ye  doubters;  ye  women-men; 
ye  disgraceful  progeny  of  the  Ancients.  Whoever 
trembled  before  priests  or  gods  until  these  pallid 
demons  came?  Did  not  then  the  peace-flower 
bloom  in  our  gardens;  the  song  of  the  phoenix 
[255] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

make  men's  hearts  harmonious?  Who  now  does 
not  fear  the  breath  of  these  priests?  Do  they  not 
get  fat  on  destruction  ?  Do  they  not  steal  the  wives 
of  our  Great  Men?  Destroy  towns  and  cities?  O 
ye  black-haired  men  of  Han !  O  ye " 

"Why  doesn't  someone  climb  the  wall?"  de- 
manded one  wave  of  another. 

"  They  have  cauldrons  inside  and  when  one 
mounts  the  walls  they  take  off  the  lids  and  the 
fumes  cause " 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Bah!  It  is  easy  to  reason  with  a  wise  man, 
but  to  convince " 

"Throw  stink-pots  over  the  walls!" 

"Get  the  pung-dongs!" 

These  cries  were  taken  up  and  echoed  on  all 
sides. 

In  the  middle  of  the  open  space  between  the 
Mission  and  the  river — now  filled  by  the  mob — 
a  band  of  Taoist  monks  had  congregated,  min- 
gling their  weird  cries  and  clash  of  their  cymbals 
with  noises  about  them,  and  there  rose  above  all 
the  rest  a  plaintive  falsetto  shriek: 

"  Disasters  come  upon  the  Middle  Kingdom. 
Foreign  devils  disturb  the  country. 
They  urge  the  people  to  join  their  religion. 
No  Gods  they  venerate. 
Their  backs  they  turn  on  Heaven. 
They  teach  men  to  debase  their  ancestors. 
Human  obligations  they  hate. 
[256] 


THE    PROPITIATION 

They  force  women  to  adultery. 

These  sea-imps  are  not  the  produce  of  mankind. 

If  you  doubt  this  look  at  them  carefully. 

Their  eyes  are  blue,  like  those  of  devils. 

They  look  into  the  depths  of  the  earth. 

Their  hair  is  red,  which  is  the  colour  of  hell. 

They  dry  up  the  earth. 

No  rain  falls. 

The  sky  is  parched. 

This  is  because  their  blood-God  is  in  the  heavens." 

At  regular  intervals  the  other  monks  joined  in, 
in  high  falsetto  wail : 

"Burn  the  yellow  written  prayers. 
Light  the  incense  tapers. 

Invite  the  Gods  and  Genii  from  all  the  Grottoes. 
The  Gods  will  come  forth  from  their  caverns. 
The  Genii  will  come  out  of  the  mountains " 

Thus  this  sea  surged,  rolled,  grumbled,  tossed, 
debated.  All  howled  at  once,  all  talked  at  once, 
and  at  intervals  silence  came  simultaneously  over 
them  all.  This  still  stillness  resembled  that  strange 
quiet  that  often  comes  in  the  midst  of  battle  or 
storm;  it  might  be  called  the  scowl  of  decision, 
ominous,  portentous. 

Fortunately  for  the  Mission,  this  mob-thought, 
this  contemplation  of  that  turbulent  flood,  never 
lasted  long  enough  to  decide;  some  noise  would 
disturb  it,  a  whisper  perhaps,  but  something,  and 
tumultuous  it  wasted  its  force  in  surfy  din. 

Suddenly  there  burst  above  all  its  noise  a  deep 
[257] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
boom  from  the  river,  followed  by  another  and  an- 
other. Like  rockets  or  even  meteors  the  cannon's 
spittle  traced  its  fire  over  the  waters. 

The  French  gunboats  had  opened  fire. 

The  man-flood  that  filled  the  open  field  and  that 
murmured  and  howled  or  was  silent,  whose  wave- 
crests  of  flame  surged  and  eddied  around  the  Mis- 
sion walls,  suddenly  became  a  maelstrom  of  dark- 
ness and  wild  cries.  Shell  after  shell  fell  into  this 
maelstrom,  which,  contrary  to  other  whirlpools, 
was  not  concentric,  but  might  be  called  multiple; 
wherever  a  shell  exploded  a  minor  whirlpool  was 
formed,  the  outer  circles  of  which  were  made  up 
of  the  living,  the  inner  of  the  wounded,  the  centre 
of  the  dead,  the  torn.  Thus  the  whole  open  space 
was  filled  with  frightful  eddies;  eddies  that 
bumped  into  one  another,  contended,  merged. 
Medusa-like  they  scattered  themselves  into  a  dozen 
whirlpools,  then  devouring  one  another  formed  a 
huge  indistinguishable  mass ;  struggling,  shrinking, 
climbing,  crawling,  wriggling.  Here  and  there 
blown  asunder;  torn,  mutilated,  sighing. 

The  mass  of  wrigglers  grew  less  and  less. 

Several  houses  on  the  western  side  of  the  open 
space  were  set  on  fire  by  shells  exploding  in  them, 
and  as  the  flames  shot  skyward  they  cast  a  lurid 
light  over  all. 

The  firing  ceased.  There  was  nothing  to  shoot 
at  other  than  when  a  wounded  man  would  jump 
[258] 


THE   PROPITIATION 

up,  run  a  little  way,  then  fall.  Some  of  these  men 
ran  to  the  river  and  jumped  in;  some  ran  to  the 
Mission  Gates  and  knocked  entreatingly;  others 
ran  toward  the  buildings  in  flame. 

Several  boats  loaded  with  marines  now  put  off 
from  the  warships  and  rowed  heavily  across  the 
lighted  waters.  No  one  opposed  their  landing,  but 
as  they  started  across  the  open  space  they  invol- 
untarily drew  back  at  the  frightful  spectacle  that 
lay  before  them.  Lit  by  the  red  glare  of  burning 
buildings  the  place  was  as  one  vast  slaughter  pen. 
The  dead  lay  strewn  about  in  bunches;  headless, 
legless,  gutless,  soulless.  Here  one  with  muscles 
twitching  in  death's  agony,  there  one  asleep.  The 
eyes  of  some  were  glazed,  others  looked  resign- 
edly at  the  stars.  Some  sat  erect,  and  as  the  ma- 
rines approached  laughed  and — died. 


[259] 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 
THE  WHITE  LAMB  AND  YELLOW  WOLF 

A    MONTH     after    the     night-flight     and 
night-riot,  which  the  Propitiation  of  the 
Gods  of  the  Waters  had  brought  about, 
a  defensive  calm  pervaded  the  Mission  of  Ying- 
ching  and  its  immediate  environs,  although  to  the 
westward  the  noise  of  hammer  and  saw  filled  the 
air. 

The  fires  that  started  from  the  bursting  shells 
had  swept  westward  to  the  street  of  the  Golden 
Flower  and  north  to  Old  River  Street,  where, 
owing  to  the  greater  width  of  these  thoroughfares, 
as  well  as  to  the  strenuous  exertions  on  the  part 
of  the  fire-fighters,  the  flames  had  been  stopped, 
but  only  after  an  area  almost  an  half-mile  long 
and  about  an  eighth  of  a  mile  in  width  had  been 
completely  gutted. 

In  a  few  days  after  that  dreadful  night,  when 
the  dead  and  mutilated  had  been  removed  from 
the  open  space  and  order  had  been  restored 
throughout  the  suburbs,  these  people,  as  industri- 
ous ants,  began  to  rebuild  on  the  embers,  amid 
ashes,  their  homes  and  stores  and  temples. 
Abroad  over  the  black  blot  rose  the  garrulous 
noise  of  their  labour;  and  over  the  debris,  ash, 
[260] 


WHITE    LAMB    AND   YELLOW   WOLF 

and  dead,  creative  life  in  its  various  phases 
hummed  persistently.  Men  were  coming  and  go- 
ing, some  carrying  bricks,  others  chiselling  granite 
blocks;  some  were  whipsawing  logs  into  floors, 
joists,  beams,  and  doors,  while  others  were  putting 
together  the  piles  of  wood,  brick  and  stone. 

A  kind  of  bitter  happiness  pervaded  those  build- 
ing this  new  suburb  in  the  midst  of  the  old,  and 
they  chattered,  cursed,  railed.  Hucksters  with 
viands  and  sweetmeats  passed  and  repassed;  chil- 
dren played  among  the  logs;  soldiers  moved  back 
and  forth;  silent  groups  stood  scowling  along  the 
waterfront,  and  among  the  brick-heaps  and  half- 
completed  buildings  troops  of  spectators  came  and 
went.  Sometimes  a  lone  being  slunk  along,  look- 
ing vainly  for  some  spot;  if  found — weep;  if  not 
^vanish. 

At  the  northwest  and  northeast  corners  of  the 
Mission  Compound  the  marines  had  thrown  bar- 
ricades across  the  Old  River  Street  and  had 
mounted  ordnance  on  each.  Sentries  patrolled 
these  baricades  as  well  as  the  whole  circuit  of  the 
Mission  Walls.  On  the  river  opposite  the  open 
space  a  French  cruiser  and  gunboats  still  anchored; 
their  cannon  covering  all  approaches  and  even 
holding  the  city  at  their  mercy. 

One  day  about  a  month  after  the  night-feast  of 
the  Gods  and  toward  the  third  hour  after  sunrise, 
the  sentries  on  the  east  barricade  noticed  a  move- 

f26ll 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
ment  among  the  Chinese  patrols  stationed  farther 
down  Old  River  Street. 

Presently  a  single  sedan  with  four  bearers  and 
one  attendant  came  swiftly  toward  the  barricade. 
Near  the  redoubt  the  sedan  stopped  and  the  at- 
tendant cautiously  advanced  toward  a  sentry,  hold- 
ing before  him  an  open  card.  The  marine  reached 
down  his  gun  and  the  attendant  stuck  the  card  on 
the  bayonet. 

After  some  delay  a  squad  of  marines  marched 
out  of  the  north  gate  to  the  east  barricade  and, 
with  these  sailors  acting  as  an  escort,  the  sedan  en- 
tered the  redoubt  and  disappeared  within  the 
walls  of  the  Mission.  At  the  entrance  it  passed 
through  double  ranks  of  marines  standing  at  pre- 
sent arms  and  was  carried  into  the  building  to  the 
rear  of  the  sombre  Visigothic  chapel.  When  it  was 
set  down  in  the  bishop's  own  study,  an  old  man, 
trembling,  withered,  tottered  out  of  it. 

The  bishop  came  up  to  him  and  bowed. 

"Your  Excellency  does  me  great  honour.  How 
will  I  ever  be  able  to  repay  such  kindness?" 

Tai  Lin  made  no  reply.  Aged  and  shrunk, 
without  the  strength  of  self-support,  he  sank  into 
a  chair  beside  a  table  and,  leaning  forward,  buried 
his  head  in  his  arms. 

The  bishop  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table  and,  lolling  back  in  his  chair,  caressed  his 
pallid  hands,  now  and  then  cracking  his  knuckles. 
[262] 


WHITE   LAMB    AND   YELLOW   WOLF 

Sometimes  a  tremor  passed  through  the  body  of 
Tai  Lin. 

Sometimes  the  bishop  bit  his  lips. 

Tai  Lin  raised  his  head  and  looked  piteously  at 
him. 

"I  cannot  find  her."  Then  the  old  man's  head 
sank  again  upon  the  table. 

"It  is  very  unfortunate,"  communed  the  bishop 
in  soft,  sad  tones.  "Human  frailty,  alas,  human 
frailty!  When  I  sent  the  priest  to  be  instructor  to 
your  wife,  I  thought  him  a  noble,  a  virtuous  man. 
It  has  broken  my  heart  to  find  out  that  by  being 
tempted  he  has  lost  his  soul.  What  could  be  worse ! 
I  would  rather  the  Mission  be  wholly  destroyed 
than  one  soul  lost.  We  came  here  to  save  souls, 
not  to  lose  them.  And  now,  in  the  opinion  of  your 
countrymen,  all  our  benevolence,  all  our  good 
deeds,  our  self-sacrifice,  our  prayers  and  labours 
are  gone,  utterly  forgotten  on  account  of  this 
one  evil  act.  You  complain  bitterly.  You  have  lost 
a  wife — God  a  soul." 

Silence  again  ensued.  Several  times  the  bishop 
cleared  his  throat  as  if  to  speak. 

Tai  Lin  remained  motionless. 

"Did  you  ever  think  that — that — perhaps  the 
priest  was  not  wholly  to  blame?"  asked  the  bishop 
with  mild  concern. 

Tai  Lin  looked  at  him  dully. 

"Yes;  you  are  right.  She  was  not  to  blame." 
[263] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
He  answered  mechanically.     "She  could    do    no 
wrong. 

"Once  I  gave  her  a  little  stool.  She  always  sat 
on  that  at  my  feet.  You  do  not  know,  but  that  is 
the  way  it  was.  She  patted  my  hand — now,  she  is 
gone — all  is  gone." 

The  old  quavering  head  fell  forward  upon  the 
table.  Sometimes  a  tremor  passed  through  his 
body,  but  no  sound  broke  the  silence. 

The  bishop  picked  his  teeth,  white,  narrow 
teeth,  set  far  apart.  This  was  a  sign  of  meditation. 

"Did  you  ever  see  this  ring?"  he  asked  gently, 
as  he  placed  on  the  table  the  pearl  that  the  wife 
had  given  to  the  Breton. 

Tai  Lin  raised  his  head,  looked  at  the  pearl 
and  shuddered. 

"I  noticed,"  continued  the  bishop  sympatheti- 
cally, "that  he  had  this  ring  the  very  first  day  after 
his  return  from  your  wife.  She  made  him  promise 
not  to  part  with  it.  I  thought  it  might  show  a 
little — a  very  sudden — I  may  be  wrong — but  a 
woman's  passion." 

"My  ring."  Tai  Lin's  voice  was  almost  inaud- 
ible in  its  calmness. 

"Have  you  ever  noticed  any  eagerness  on  her 
part  for  his  coming?"  asked  the  bishop  with  com- 
passionate reluctance. 

Tai  Lin  continued  looking  mutely  at  the  ring. 

"I  did  not  know,  but — I  suspected  it,"  went  on 
[264] 


WHITE  LAMB  AND  YELLOW  WOLF 
the  bishop  in  the  same  pitying  tones.  "I  noticed 
that  when  he  was  prevented  from  going  to  your 
palace  she  would  send  long  letters  to  him — as 
bishop  I  read  them.  They  were  filled  with  tender 
endearments,  the  most  passionate  riotous  words. 
It  is  difficult  for  me  to  speak  of  this.  I  hope  I  have 
not  offended  Your  Excellency,  for  there  is  only  one 
desire  in  my  heart — the  truth.  To  seek  the  truth 
and  to  live  uprightly  have  been  the  two  master 
wishes  of  my  life.  But,  alas,  how  hard  it  is  to  dis- 
cover truth!  To  do  this  one  must  pray  to  God. 
There  is  no  other  way.  And  since  this  terrible  af- 
fair I  have  been  continually  on  my  knees.  God  has 
smiled.  His  smile  has  penetrated  the  darkness  sur- 
rounding this  mystery  and  all  is  now  clear,  but  to 
understand,  one  must  first  understand  women. 

"It  is  strange  the  attributes  men  clothe  women 
in :  Some  deceive  themselves  into  looking  upon  her 
as  an  angel,  when  they  ought  to  close  their  eyes 
and  cry,  Scat!  Others  make  her  a  tantalising  rid- 
dle, and  spend  their  lives  trying  to  solve  it;  a  sweet 
enigma,  which  they  do  not  try  seriously  to  know, 
lest  knowing  they  find  out  what  they  do  not 
wish. 

"Woman  is  not  a  riddle,  she  is  not  an  angel,  she 
is  not  an  enigma.  She  is  an  animal — that  i§  all. 

"To  understand  a  woman,  study  a  feline.  She 
has  all  their  attributes.    Like  them  she  only  ceases 
to  want  when  satiated;  when  she  desires,  she  does 
[265] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
nothing  else — like  an  animal  she  follows  the  scent 
of  her  wishes.  A  woman  never  rests  except  when 
asleep;  she  never  sleeps  unless  her  hungers  have 
been  satiated.  Nothing  is  more  alarming  than  a 
woman  with  one  eye  open ;  like  animals,  when  they 
doze  they  think  of  to-morrow's  hunt.  Women,  as 
felines,  have  only  three  hungers :  When  these  are 
allayed  they  are  at  peace ;  when  not,  they  prowl — 
they  cannot  help  it.  Hunger  and  reason  are  al- 
ways in  conflict,  but  when  reason  is  lacking  there 
is  no  contention,  no  delay,  and  they  hasten  on  the 
warm  trail  of  their  desires.  There  are  no  difficul- 
ties they  will  not  surmount  if  the  scent  of  the  game 
is  strong.  Feline-like  they  are  velvety-heeled,  and 
we  hear  not  their  comings  nor  goings.  One  never 
suspects  they  have  claws  until  they  lacerate.  They 
are  not  satisfied  with  one  victim;  they  suck  the 
heart's  blood,  then  sniff  for  another.  Old  age  has 
not  much  blood — no,  not  very  much." 

For  some  moments  the  bishop  cracked  his 
knuckles  in  silence;  his  cavitous  eyes  fixed  keenly 
on  the  old,  withered  man  before  him,  who  still 
looked  dumbly  at  the  pearl  on  the  table. 

"Yes;  they  are  best  caged,"  resumed  the  bishop 
in  soft,  meditative  tones.  "And  yet  those  closely 
confined  are  most  dangerous  when  given  a  little 
liberty.  The  breath  of  freedom — that  insane  folly 
• — soon  heats  the  blood  and  leads  them  to  wild  ex- 
cesses. Had  I  not  felt  so  sure  of  the  priest's  vir- 
[266] 


WHITE  LAMB  AND  YELLOW  WOLF 
tue,  I  would  not  have  permitted  him  to  teach  her 
and  lay  himself  open  to  temptation.  I  did  not 
think  he  would  submit.  But  no  risk  is  so  great  as 
to  be  lenient  or  careless  with  the  caged.  Open  the 
bars  and  animals  will  go  forth.  Play  with  their 
claws  and  they  will  scratch.  Tantalise  their  hun- 
gers and  uncaged  they  will  gorge.  The  wisest  way 
is  to  teach  them  a  few  tricks — a  very  few,  and 
when  not  performing  keep  them  behind  bars. 
Man's  greatest  self-deception  is  to  believe  that 
they  are  tamed.  No  animal  has  ever  yet  been  so 
gentled  that  it  could  be  left  to  its  own  instincts. 
Nothing  is  more  dangerous.  How  many  keepers 
have  been  lacerated  to  death  by  this  one  act  of 
careless  confidence ! 

"But  I  do  not  know  how  she  could  have  man- 
aged it,"  the  bishop's  tones  became  filled  with  deep 
concern.  "Surely  she  was  not  so  bold  and  immod- 
est as  to  come  from  behind  the  screen?" 

Tai  Lin  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ring  and  looked 
startled,  mutely  about  him. 

The  bishop  wiped  his  lips,  and  behind  the  hand- 
kerchief a  smile  flickered. 

"Yet  there  are  worse  things  than  her  coming 
from  behind  the  screen,"  he  continued  compas- 
sionately. "If  it  had  only  stopped  there,  for  the 
pride  of  beauty  may  have  moved  her  uncon- 
sciously; impelled  by  nature  she  may  have  crept 
unseen  to  his  side. 

[267] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"This  manner  of  movement  is  peculiar  to 
women  and — snakes. 

"Did  Your  Excellency  know  that  during  the 
first  month  of  the  world's  birth  these  two  met — a 
snake  and  a  woman  ?  Being  unable  to  swallow  each 
other,  they  made  perpetual  compact — to  devour 
man. 

"Since  then  they  have  possessed  many  attributes 
in  common.  Their  tongues  have  the  same  forked 
rapidity;  poison  lurks  in  their  kisses;  death  in  their 
embraces.  One-half  of  them  is  allurement,  the 
other  half  desire.  In  gorgeous  bedeckment  they 
resemble  flowers — men  often  mistake  them  for 
such.  Their  backs  are  beautiful  with  radiant  col- 
ours, their  bellies  pallid.  One  coaxes  what  the 
other  devours.  Nothing  can  equal  the  subtlety  of 
their  movement !  One  never  feels  them  until  bit- 
ten ;  one  never  knows  them  until  the  heart  has  been 
clogged  by  their  poison.  Thinking  them  an  inno- 
cent flower  on  account  of  their  hues  and  beauty, 
one  reaches  out  after  them  and  finds — what  Your 
Excellency  has  discovered." 

A  shudder  passed  through  the  old  man. 

The  bishop  picked  his  teeth. 

Time  passed. 

Tai  Lin  sat  up ;  never  taking  his  eyes  away  from 
the  ring,  he  spoke,  but  as  much  to  himself  as  to 
the  bishop,  feebly,  piteously  calm : 

"I  do  not  know  why  she  did  this." 
[268! 


WHITE   LAMB    AND   YELLOW   WOLF 

There  are  some  silences  that  men  hesitate  to 
break;  the  silence  of  a  tempest,  the  silence  of  an 
abyss,  the  silence  of  a  broken  heart. 

The  bishop  made  no  attempt  to  answer  or  break 
the  oppressive  stillness  that  followed  Tai  Lin's 
simple  statement. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  spoke  again,  then 
his  voice  was  quiet,  but  in  his  tardy  speech  lay  de- 
cision not  less  terrible  than  it  was  calm. 

"Yes;  it  is  all  over.  I  am  glad  you  told  me.  She 
shall  suffer.  When  you  .said  they  were  animals  you 
told  the  truth.  I  always  believed  that,  but  thought 
her  different.  I  was  not  mistaken.  She  has  been 
more  a  snake  than  beast.  Your  words  have  been 
learned,  only  there  is  no  such  poison  in  a  snake's 
mouth  as  in  a  woman's  heart. 

"No;  I  do  not  ask  you  why  you  did  not  stop  this 
crime  when  you  saw  its  beginning,  because  I  know 
you  have  made  roguery  holy  to  escape  its  responsi- 
bility and  to  enjoy  its  profits.  You  have  your  own 
protection,  but  she  shall  die." 

The  bishop,  who  had  been  picking  his  teeth, 
leaned  forward. 

"She  shall  be  lyngcheed,"  added  Tai  Lin  softly. 

"But  she  may  be  a  Christian,"  interposed  the 
bishop. 

"Lyngcheed,"  reiterated  Tai  Lin  meditatively. 

"She  may  be  a  Christian,"  said  the  bishop  again. 

"Yes,"  continued  Tai  Lin,  heedless  of  the 
[269] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
bishop's  words.  "Yes,  that  is  her  punishment  by 
the  laws  of  the  Empire." 

"  But  she  may  have  become  a  Christian." 

'*  Yes;  it  is  necessary  that  she  shall  die." 

"  She  is  undoubtedly  a  Christian  by  this  time," 
interrupted  the  bishop  decisively. 

"  What  do  I  care  if  she  is  a  Christian  I"  and  Tai 
Lin  rose  up  savagely,  quaveringly  before  him. 

"Well — you  know,"  and  the  bishop  wrung  ca- 
ressingly his  bony,  bloodless  hands,  "Christians 
are  entitled  to  our  protection.  Yes,  yes,  we  could 
not  permit  you  to " 

"  She  is  my  wife  and  by  the  law  shall  be  pun- 
ished." 

"  Christians  are  not  subject  to  your  laws.  They 
are  under  the  protection  of  the  Church.  The 
Church  does  not  recognise  your  pagan  marriage. 
By  becoming  a  Christian  she  is  free  and  entitled 
to  our  protection " 

"I  will  hammer  this  Mission  into  dust!"  and 
Tai  Lin  brought  his  trembling  fist  weakly  down 
upon  the  table. 

"  There  are  three  warships  in  the  river,"  com- 
mented the  bishop  softly. 

"I  will  sink  them!" 

"There   are  battleships  at  Hong  Kong;    ten 

thousand  troops  at  Saigon.  A  word  from  me  and 

this  city  will  be  bombarded.  A  cable  from  me  and 

ten  thousand  French  troops  will  be  landed.  You 

[270] 


WHITE   LAMB    AND   YELLOW   WOLF 
know  I  speak  the  truth.  Do  you  want  to  be  held 
responsible  for  the  death  of  a  myriad  multitude? 
Responsible  for  the  loss  of  three  kingdoms 

"  How  posterity  would  revile  your  name !  How 
contemptuous  will  be  held  your  descendants !  Even 
then  you  cannot  regain  her. 

"  Beware  1  Beware ! 

"  Disaster  surely  falls  on  him  that  opposes  the 
Church,  for  it  is  God's  world-child;  mankind  and 
kingdoms  its  servants.  Do  not  think  that  this 
child  sleeps,  curled  up  in  a  lotus-bud,  or  is  drift- 
ing to  a  Nirvana.  It  is  moving  onward  to  Uni- 
versal Power." 

The  bishop  leaned  farther  over  the  table;  turn- 
ing his  head  he  looked  up  into  the  face  of  Tai  Lin 
and,  flushing  from  the  intensity  of  his  feelings, 
became  ashen.  His  lips  were  parted,  showing 
the  long,  narrow  gleam  of  his  teeth,  while  his  jet 
eyes,  set  so  deep  in  their  sockets,  glittered  and  had 
a  speech  of  their  own. 

"  You  think,  in  this  country,"  he  continued  in  a 
voice  intense  with  feeling,  "  that  the  Church  is  the 
cat's-paw  of  European  nations;  that  they  get  mis- 
sionaries killed  to  have  an  excuse  for  conquest? 
Bah!  What  are  these  nations?  The  Church's 
hammer  and  tongs.  The  Church  commands,  they 
obey.  You  cannot  injure  a  servant  of  God  with 
impunity.  You  cannot  oppose  the  Church  without 
ruin.  The  Church  of  God  must  be  the  Spiritual 
[271] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
Ruler  of  the  world.  It  cares  not  who  holds  the  few 
hours  of  temporal  sway.  Accept  our  Spiritual 
Dominance  in  peace  and  be  your  own  rulers;  at- 
tempt to  destroy  and  you  shall  become  the  Servant 
of  the  World. 

"  You  know  that  no  army  ever  landed  in  this 
country  that  did  not  come  at  our  wish  and  com- 
mand. Why  are  all  of  these  gunboats  creeping  up 
and  down  your  rivers?  Who  are  they  to  obey? 
Dare  you  punish  a  Christian  without  our  leave? 
Has  not  the  church  placed  them  above  your  laws? 
And  yet  you  come  to  me  and  threaten  to  destroy 
this  Mission;  kill  this  priest  and  lyngchee  a  Chris- 
tian woman!  What  could  be  more  ridiculous? 
How  would  you  do  it?  Where  would  you  begin 
and  where  would  you  end?" 

After  a  moment  of  silence  the  bishop  drew  back 
in  his  chair.  Gradually  his  ashen  flush  faded  and 
he  again  became  pallid. 

Tai  Lin  stood  motionless.  Presently  his  head 
sank  upon  his  bosom,  but  the  frown  on  his  with- 
ered face  did  not  go  away. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  bishop,  speaking 
compassionately. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  Your  Excellency.  You  are  a 
wronged  man.  When  one  is  cast  out  by  a  father 
one  can  forget;  when  one  is  scorned  by  a  son  one 
can  grieve  and  forgive,  but  when  a  man's  wife 
discards  him  he  cannot  forget,  nor  grieve  nor  for- 
[272] 


WHITE  LAMB  AND  YELLOW  WOLF 
give.  He  has  been  injured  internally  and  abroad. 
His  heart  has  been  splintered;  his  name  befouled; 
his  thoughts  and  hopes,  like  green  scum,  are  cast 
adrift;  his  children  and  children's  children  are  bas- 
tardised; he  is  alone  in  the  profundity  of  his  sor- 
row and  yet  conspicuous  because  of  her  sin. 

"  Most  of  our  sins  die  with  us,  but  the  sins  of 
such  a  woman  live  on.  Like  abhorrent  weeds  they 
have  seeds,  which  by  Time's  winds,  are  scattered 
abroad  to  tare  the  fields  of  men.  Quick  should  be 
her  cut-off.  There  is  no  law  in  this  land  wiser  than 
the  one  that  makes  death  the  penalty  of  her  crime. 
It  is  the  same  law  that  God  himself  gave  to 
Moses,  our  Great  Elder.  I  can  understand  the 
threefold  reason  why  you  should  have  her  lyng- 
cheed  and  sympathise  with  you. 

"  A  man  should  be  known  before  the  world  as 
just;  the  laws  of  the  Empire  should  not  be  de- 
ceived; the  stigma  should  be  removed  from  your 
descendants,  for  if  not,  men  will  ever  say  there 
was  baseness  in  your  household  and  your  whole 
progeny  will  be  heralded  as  bastards.  How  can 
the  wick  of  one's  memory  be  tended  by  those  whom 
the  world  repudiates?" 

The  bishop  leaned  close  to  Tai  Lin  and  lower- 
ing his  voice  spoke  with  greater  intensity. 

"  Would  you  have  me  aid  you  ?  " 

Tai  Lin  looked  at  him  dully,  incredulously. 

The  bishop  tapped  the  table  with  his  finger-tips. 
[273] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"  You  called  her  Christian,"  mumbled  Tai 
Lin. 

"  Yes,  yes;  but  you  don't  understand.  You  were 
going  to  act  against  the  Church,  not  with  it." 

The  bishop  caressed  his  hands. 

"  Now  if  you  and  I  could  come  to  some  agree- 
ment." 

"You?" 

"Yes;  whereby  the  Church  withdraws  its  pro- 
tection  " 

"I  agree,"  cried  Tai  Lin.  "Where  is  she! 
Where  is  she!" 

"  What  will  you  agree  to?  " 

"Anything,"  cried  Tai  Lin  hoarsely,  groping 
feebly  the  table's  edge. 

One  by  one  the  bishop  pulled  his  fingers  until 
the  knuckles  cracked  in  each,  which  he  did  only  in 
moments  of  great  pleasure. 

"  Will  Your  Excellency  agree  to  deed  your  park 
to  the  Church  if  it  withdraws  its  protection  and 
sanctions  her  punishment?  " 

"  No !  "  answered  Tai  Lin  decisively. 

"  But  if  she  is  found  and  given  over  to  you  ?  " 
interposed  the  bishop  eagerly. 

Tai  Lin  did  not  answer  for  some  time. 

"No,"  he  said  finally.  "  You  will  take  my  park 
and  then  squeal  Christian!  Christian!  Christian! 
I  know  you  rogues." 

The  bishop  picked  his  teeth.  Once  in  a  while  he 
[274] 


WHITE   LAMB    AND   YELLOW   WOLF 
clacked  his  tongue,  which  was  a  sign  of  perplexity. 
Presently  he  smiled. 

"  We  will  draw  up  a  contingent  bond  signed  and 
attested  to  the  effect  that  the  park  shall  not  be- 
come the  property  of  the  Church  until  the  last 
stroke  of  the  lyngchee." 

A  purple  pallor  overspread  the  seams  and  wrin- 
kles of  Tai  Lin's  face;  his  glowing  eyes  became 
vacuous. 

The  bishop  moved  uneasily. 

Tai  Lin  fumbled  at  the  throat  of  his  robe. 

Suddenly  he  bent  over  the  table  toward  the 
bishop. 

"The  priest?" 

The  bishop  rose  and  whispered  for  some  time 
in  his  ear. 

"Make  the  bond!"  commanded  Tai  Lin 
huskily. 

The  bishop  hastened  from  the  room  and  when 
he  returned  he  brought  with  him  the  commandant 
of  the  marines. 

The  bonds  were  drawn  and  signed. 

Tai  Lin  rose.  For  a  moment  he  stood  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  ring  on  the  table,  then,  without 
noticing  the  bows  of  the  bishop,  got  into  his  se- 
dan. 

As  he  was  being  carried  out  of  the  Gateway  he 
caused  his  bearers  to  stop,  and,  lifting  the  blind, 
looked  back  long  and  fixedly  at  the  House  of  God. 
[  275  J 


CHAPTER   EIGHT 
AND    SO    IT   ENDED 

ATER  passing  under  the  waterfall  cur- 
taining the  doorway  of  the  Grotto  of  the 
Sleepless  Dragon,  one  apparently  stands 
upon  the  edge  of  an  abyss  out  of  which  come 
blasts  of  cold  moist  air  and  a  stillness,  which,  in 
contrast  to  the  splashing  roar  of  the  cataract,  is 
appalling.  The  floor  of  the  cavern  slopes  down- 
ward some  ten  degrees,  and  in  the  subdued  rays 
filtered  through  the  prisms  of  falling  waters  the 
nearby  walls  with  their  columns  and  pilasters 
cleave  imperceptibly  out  of  the  dim  light,  white 
as  the  clearest  marble.  The  floor  is  covered  with 
a  dust  piled  about  like  drifted  snow  and  swept  by 
the  cave  winds  into  hollows,  ridges  and  crescents. 
Water  dripping  from  stalactites  trickles  over  cor- 
rugated pilasters,  and  farther  down  the  incline 
runs  in  greater  volume  from  their  bases.  This 
crystalline  seepage  has  formed  colossal  cups,  which 
in  their  endless  overflow  have  made  saucers,  then 
platters  and  these,  running  out  from  each  side  of 
the  cavern,  overlap  toward  the  centre.  These  ac- 
cretions of  calcareous  ooze  form  more  and  more, 
as  one  advances,  a  series  of  overlaying  crusts 
[276] 


AND    SO    IT    ENDED 

which,  in  the  lower  incline,  become  the  roofs  of 
abysses,  resounding  with  an  hollow  rumble  when 
stepped  upon.  Sometimes,  like  the  covering  of  a 
tiger's  trap,  they  support  one  man,  sometimes  an 
hundred.  These  covered  abysses — no  other  than 
the  maw  of  the  Sleepless  Dragon — probably  hold 
the  bones  and  accoutrements  of  the  Manchu  regi- 
ments that  pursued  so  relentlessly  the  youthful 
Emperor.  In  them  also  are  the  bones  of  treasure 
hunters,  robbers,  and  nameless,  numberless  others 
for  whom  the  Sleepless  Dragon  accounts  not. 

However,  there  came  a  day  when  the  danger  of 
the  abysses  was  averted  to  those  that  entered  and 
stopped  long  enough  on  the  threshold  to  become 
accustomed  to  the  soft,  shadowless  light  that  lay 
about  them;  or  to  those  that  impatiently  lit  their 
resinous  torches,  for  there  had  been  made  in  the 
snow-like  drifts  a  distinct  trail  of  foot-steps  which, 
passing  and  repassing,  had  trodden  down  the  dust; 
and  along  this  new  path  were  marks  such  as  one 
sees  in  winter  where  boughs  have  been  dragged 
through  the  snow.  This  trail  made  of  feet  and 
boughs  began  where  the  mist  from  the  waterfall 
floated  and  continued  down  the  incline  until  it 
.  almost  reached  the  edge  of  the  first  plate-like 
formation  of  calcareous  deposits,  then  turned  to 
the  right  and  ran  straight  into  the  wall  between 
two  huge  corrugated  stalagmites.  In  a  jagged  re- 
cess almost  behind  the  left-hand  stalagmite  was  2. 
[277] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
narrow  opening,   the   lower  part   of  which  was 
ragged,  the  upper  chiselled  and  smooth.  This  exit, 
heading  away  from  the  concealed  abysses,  had  in 
some  ages  past  been  made  by  man  into  a  doorway. 

Passing  through  this  secret  portal  the  passage 
is  confined  for  some  distance  by  narrow  walls,  and 
the  low  roof  makes  it  necessary  in  places  to  crawl 
upon  the  knees.  The  tunnel  ends  by  opening  into 
a  vast  cavern  similar  to  the  one  first  entered;  but 
on  advancing  the  walls  and  ceilings  grow  invisible 
to  the  light  of  torches  and  it  becomes  like  a 
vast  field.  Here  and  there  brooks  of  crystal  water 
gurgle  dully  as  they  trickle  into  a  circular  lake  that 
fills  the  lower  basin.  When  torches  are  held 
over  the  edge  of  this  lake  there  streams  upward 
out  of  the  abysmal  depths  shoals  of  pallid,  eyeless 
fishes. 

From  this  subterranean  field  caverns,  like  high- 
ways, diverged  in  several  directions.  And  one  of 
them — fortunately  or  otherwise — led  into  what 
was  once  a  little  corner  of  Paradise,  cast  like  a 
gleaming  pearl  into  this  damp  cellar  of  earth.  In 
the  centre  a  fire  of  pine  branches  had  once  blazed 
and  crackled  cheerily,  giving  the  shadows  of  the 
chamber  the  soft  whiteness  of  a  snow-drift,  but 
where  the  light  of  the  pine  blaze  fell  it  sparkled 
and  glistened  as  though  incrusted  with  jewels.  In 
the  sides  of  the  cavern  were  numerous  openings; 
at  one  end  curved  a  half  arch,  in  the  other  a  hole 
[278] 


AND   SO    IT   ENDED 

that  led  to  the  underground  field.  From  the  dome 
jewelled  stalactites  ten  to  twenty  feet  in  length 
hung  pendant,  while  here  and  there  rose  great 
stalagmites  like  fluted  pillars.  The  walls  were  hung 
with  draperies  falling  in  unbroken,  graceful  folds, 
now  softly  white  as  a  swan's  breast,  now  a  curtain 
sown  thick  with  precious  stone.  Around  the  wall's 
base  cups  had  formed  similar  to  those  in  the  first 
cave,  and  were  filled  with  transparent  water. 
Pearly,  diamonded  furniture  was  crowded  about. 
Thrones,  pedestals,  dais  and  couches  draped  lightly 
in  gleaming  folds,  coruscating  as  though  studded 
with  all  the  jewels  of  Yu  Ngao.  In  this  cavern 
joyousness  and  laughter  echoed. 

The  wife,  like  an  uncaged  lark  of  an  hundred 
spirits,  was  Happiness  itself;  and  when  laughter 
was  not  on  her  lips  her  song  found  its  way  through 
the  columned  depths.  To  her  bird-like  notes,  num- 
berless echoes  blended  in  perfect  harmony  as 
though  some  subterranean  chorus  had  taken  up  her 
song  and  was  sending  it  through  the  uttermost 
caverns  as  she  had  sent  it  into  the  hearts  of 
men.  Sometimes,  after  she  had  ceased,  her  words 
could  be  heard,  echoing,  echoing,  echoing.  These 
caverns  and  grottoes  were  reluctant  to  yield  up 
their  music,  and  slowly  smothered  or  rather  ca- 
ressed their  tones  into  silence  as  much  as  to  dumbly 
signify  that  it  was  the  first  time  an  echo  from 
heaven  had  drifted  thither. 
[279] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

One  day  not  long  after  they  had  taken  up  their 
abode  in  this  pearl-shell,  Tsang's  wife,  smiling 
and  chattering,  bustled  about  the  fire.  Tsang  sat 
on  his  heels  and  smoked  contentedly  by  her  side. 
While  on  a  high  couch  of  marble,  the  wife  di- 
rected, commenting,  sometimes  with  laughter, 
sometimes  with  the  gayest  mockery.  The  Breton 
sat  at  her  feet,  smiling  at  last  and  at  all  times, 
for  since  the  night  of  the  Propitiation  of  the  Gods 
of  the  Waters  he  had  at  no  time  ceased  to  do 
this. 

Suddenly  the  wife's  laughter  stopped  and  she 
knelt  down  beside  him. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  demanded  fear- 
fully. 

The  Breton  had  laughed. 

"  Did  you  ever  do  that  before?  "  Her  demure 
anxiety  and  troubled  looks  brought  another  uncer- 
tain, low  laugh  from  his  lips. 

"Tsi,  did  you  hear  him?  "  she  demanded,  turn- 
ing to  Tsang's  wife. 

"  Yes,  Your  Excellency." 

"  Tsang,  did  you  hear  him?  " 

"  Yes,  Your  Excellency." 

Then  she  turned  to  him  and  said  beseech- 
ingly. 

"  Do  it  again." 

In  gayest  hours,  however,  it  seems  that  mo- 
ments of  sadness  or  foreboding  must  inevitably 
[280] 


AND    SO    IT   ENDED 

intrude,  as  sea-fogs  slink  in  and  envelop  sunlit 
meadows.  In  such  a  manner  one  day  there  came 
into  the  song  and  laughter  of  the  wife  this  uneasy 
unrest.  She  appeared  trying  to  escape  from  some- 
thing, but  it  overtook  her  and  her  song-laughter 
stopped. 

She  moved  closely  to  the  Breton. 

"  Why  were  you  and  Tsang  gone  so  long 
to-day?" 

"  We  were  looking  for  the  treasure  of  Yu 
N " 

"  Treasure ! "  she  interrupted  indignantly, 
drawing  away  from  him.  "  And  I  thought  you 
different."  She  drew  farther  away. 

"  I  do  not  know  why  men  care  for  nothing  else," 
she  complained,  half  sorrowfully,  half  angrily. 
"  From  children  to  old  age  they  think  of  nothing 
else.  They  go  into  war  for  it,  and  temples  and 
jails  and  yamens;  no  mud  can  cover  it,  nor  filth 
stick  so  closely  but  what  they  fondle  it  more  than 
—than " 

The  Breton  reached  out  his  hand  toward  her, 
but  she  drew  back. 

"  You  would  rather "  Tears  were  creeping 

into  her  complaint. 

"  But,  Your  Excellency,"  commented  Tsang  op- 
portunely, "what  can  you  do  without  money? 
Fate  is  the  only  thing  on  earth  that  cannot  be 
marketed  for  it." 

[281] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

She  turned  on  him  scornfully. 

"  Oyah !  This  whole  Ming  treasure  cannot  coax 
one  lark  to  sing." 

"  It  could  persuade  kingdoms." 

"  It  cannot  open  a  single  night-closed  lotus 
bud." 

"  It  could  turn  night  into  day." 

"  It  cannot  stop  a  tear." 

"  Some  it  could." 

"  It  cannot  add  one  hour  to  life." 

"  Life  is  spanned  by  its  pleasures;  the  rich  have 
three  lives  to  the  poor  man's  one." 

"  It  cannot  buy "  She  hesitated  and  nerv- 
ously picked  the  hem  of  her  jacket. 

"Why  don't  you  answer  me?"  she  pleaded, 
turning  to  the  Breton. 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  you  never  learn  to  talk?  " 

"  No." 

"Why?" 

"  I  would  interrupt  you." 

She  leaned  close  to  him  and  looked  up  for- 
givingly. 

"  I  was  not  angry,  but  I  don't  want  you  to  go 
away  and  leave  me  for  so  long.  I — I " 

"What  is  it?" 

She  turned  her  head  away,  then  answered 
guiltily. 

"  I  dreamed  something  that  I  cannot  forget.  If 
[282] 


AND    SO    IT   ENDED 

I  only  had  not  dreamed  it,"  she  cried  as  she  snug- 
gled closer  to  him. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  he  added  reassuringly. 

"Yes;  I  know,"  she  answered,  "that  you  will 
call  this  dream  just  some  airy  tapestry  of  sleep, 
strangely  woven,  perhaps,  and  hued,  but  still  the 
gauzy  slumber-work  of  my  foolish  mind,  which  in 
waking  hours  I  should  see  plainly  through;  and 
yet — I  cannot — won't  you  let  me  tell  it  to  you?  " 

She  put  her  little  hand  in  his  and  looked  up 
imploringly,  then  nestling  closer,  she  continued 
with  naive  intentness: 

"  I  know  this  dream  came  late  in  the  night, 
because  it  was  for  hours  and  hours  that  I  could 
not  sleep.  Fear's  tugging  finger  many  times  caused 
me  to  rise  and  peer  into  the  shadow  where  you 
and  Tsang  were  sleeping.  It  must  have  been  after 
the  third  watch,  when  he  builded  the  fire,  that  I 
dreamed.  I  know  you  will  think  this  a  very  foolish 
dream." 

For  a  long  time  he  looked  into  her  upturned 
eyes;  then  putting  her  hand  against  his  cheek,  she 
turned  his  face  away. 

For  some  moments  there  was  an  hushed,  uncer- 
tain silence,  then  suddenly  she  burst  into  tears,  and 
throwing  her  arms  about  the  neck  of  the  Breton 
she  clung  passionately  to  him. 

"  Do  not  let  dreams  disturb  Your  Excellency,'* 
commented  Tsang.  "What  are  they?  Reflections 
[283] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
in  the  Great  River  whereon  we  float.  Now  how 
can  reflections  stem  the  river  or  check  the  course 
of  our  craft?" 

"Tsang!" 

"  Tsang!  "  said  his  wife,  leading  him  aside,  "  do 
you  know  that  was  a  very  bad  dream?  " 

"  Boil  your  rice,  Tsi,  boil  your  rice  I  How  can 
dreams  affect  the  stringed  puppets  of  Fate,  squawk- 
ing and  crowing,  thising  and  thating,  squeaking 
out  our  long  or  short  verse  until  Fate  gets  weary 
and  snaps  the  string.  Bah  1  What  have  we  to  do 
with  this  inane  performance?  Go  pluck  your 
fowl." 

"I  know,  Tsang,  but  I  tell  you  that  was  a  bad 
dream,  a  very  bad  dream,  and  nothing  good  will 
come  of  it." 

"  You  are  always  dreaming." 

«  Yes,  and " 

"  What !  those  lice-familiar  bonzes." 

"  They  told " 

"Bah!" 

"  Women's  tears  are  peculiarly  like  rain  from 
heaven.  Every  so  often  in  the  strange  azure  of 
their  being  are  gathered  fleeting  rifts  of  storm 
clouds,  and  when  these  are  full  swoln  and  all  rays 
of  sunshine  hid,  it  takes  but  a  small  clap  of  thun- 
der to  bring  on  a  storm,  while  a  world  of  prayer 
and  beseechment  cannot  stop  its  flood  or  drizzle — 
as  the  storm  may  be — until  self-exhausted,  then 
[284] 


AND    SO    IT    ENDED 

one  word  and,  like    the    formula    of  God,  there 
is  light." 

"  To-morrow,"  said  the  Breton,  "  I  will  send 
Tsang  to  see  if  we  can  go  away." 

"  Will  you?  "  Again  her  lips,  upturned,  quivered 
with  joy,  and  her  eyes,  smiling  through  tears, 
shone  like  stars  through  mists. 

"  Tsi,"  she  cried,  rising  and  clapping  her  hands, 
"  we  are  going  away  from  this  dreadful  place." 

"  That  dream  may  turn  out  all  right  after  all," 
answered  Tsi,  "  but " 

"  Oh,  dreams  are  nothing,"  interrupted  the  wife 
with  merriment,  "  unless  " — looking  mockingly  at 
the  Breton — "  they  are  mist  clouds  of  yesterday 
blown  across  to-night's  darkened  dome,  or  as 
Tsang  says,  '  contorted  images  reflected  in  the  river 
of  Life.'  No,  Tsi,  we  should  not  worry  when 
scholars  so  wise  have  spoken,"  and  she  bowed 
roguishly  to  the  Breton  as  her  laughter,  charming 
and  tender,  fell  gratefully  upon  their  ears.  So 
again  hapiness  reigned  within  the  Tomb  of  Yu 
Ngao. 

The  wife,  the  Breton,  and  the  two  peasants  were 
gathered  about  the  fire;  the  wife  was  helping  Tsi 
prepare  the  meal,  moving  in  rhythm  to  the  song 
she  was  singing,  while  the  Breton  watched  her 
with  eyes  round  and  bright. 

"  Come,   rice    is  ready."     She  beckoned    im- 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
periously  to  him,  holding  out  her  hand,  but  as  he 
came  to  her  side  she  drew  up,  tossing  her  head 
haughtily. 

"  Sit  down !  "  Then  seating  herself  beside  him, 
she  slipped  for  a  fleeting  moment  one  little  hand 
into  his. 

"  No,  Tsang,"  commented  the  wife  mockingly, 
"  I  do  not  think  you  will  make  a  good  farmer, 
unless  you  do  as  I  say.  You  are  too  weanless  from 
Fate.  If  your  rice  failed  to  grow,  you  would  at 
once  allot  it  to  Fate,  and  on  your  doorstep  smoke 
your  pipe.  Now,  Tsang,  you  should  inquire  into 
the  many  reasons  that  prevent  your  rice  from 
growing.  On  this  river  of  yours,  you  drift  and 
do  not  try  to  row." 

"  Yes,  Your  Excellency,  that  is  true.  But  to  con- 
tend against  Fate  or  to  make  rice  grow  would  be 
to  seek  disaster.  We  cannot  hasten  what  Fate  has 
decreed  must  go  slow,  or  retard  that  that  by  Fate 
is  moved  speedily.  Fast  or  slow  the  River  moves 
on,  and  whether  we  row  with  it  or  against  it  this 
boat  of  ours  makes  the  same  landing." 

"Why  don't  you  change  boats,  fateful  man?" 

"  How  can  we,  Your  Excellency,  when  we  are 
but  luggage  to  be  tossed  hither  and  thither  at  the 
will  of  the  Great  Boatmaster?  Sometimes  he 
throws  us  into  a  junk,  sometimes  into  a  flower- 
boat;  again  we  cling  to  a  bit  of  wood." 

"  How    ridiculous ! "     she     interrupted    gaily. 
[286! 


AND    SO    IT   ENDED 

"Life  is  no  such  muddy  stream;  rather  it  is  the 
expanse  of  heaven  wherein  we  are  birds  of  pas- 
sage, and  all  that  great  width  from  horizon  to 
horizon  have  we  to  flit  in.  All  the  heavens,  Tsang, 
are  ours,  and  we  may  mingle  as  we  please  with 
exuberant  flights  or,  solitary,  seek  the  reedy  marsh. 
There  is  no  restraint;  eastward,  westward,  up- 
ward, or  downward,  whither  we  will  so  we  may 
go.  We  may  rise,  singing  like  a  lark  to  the  very 
floor  of  heaven,  or  crouch  in  a  hollow — an  owl, 
but  of  the  plumage  of  Fate,  Tsang,  we  have  our 
choice.  Haven't  we?"  and  taking  hold  of  the 
Breton's  ear  she  pulled  his  head  toward  her,  look- 
ing fondly  up  into  his  eyes. 

"  But  I  am  a  good  farmer,"  said  Tsi,  gazing 
compassionately  at  her  husband,  "  for  I  was  raised 
in  the  paddy-fields  of  Hungshan." 

"  On  our  farm,  Tsi,  we  will  not  plant  any  rice, 
only  tea-shrubs  or  mulberry  trees,  and  among  them 
azaleas  and  bushy  camelias,  where  the  chickens 
can  hide  their  nests.  How  I  love  to  hunt  eggs  and 
tend  those  little  fuzzy  chickens  when  they  go 
peek,  peek " 

"  Listen !  "  said  Tsi,  springing  to  her  feet. 

They  listened,  and  presently  from  some  distant 
cave  came  a  murmuring  rumble. 

"  Tsang  1" 

"  Sit  down  I  What  comes,  conies,  and  that  is  the 
end  of  it." 

[  -'87  ] 


THE  VERMILION    PENCIL 

The  Breton,  on  hearing  these  sounds,  looked  at 
the  wife,  paled,  but  did  not  move.  Presently  the 
rumble  grew  more  distinct,  and  the  Breton,  with- 
out a  word,  left  the  chamber  by  the  small  hole  in 
the  end. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  returned,  and  when 
he  came  into  the  circle  of  light  a  cry  rang 
from  the  lips  of  the  wife  and,  throwing  herself 
on  his  breast,  she  clasped  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

Those  few  moments  had  altered  the  Breton. 
His  face  was  stony  and  life  seemed  to  have  gone 
from  him.  When  he  spoke  his  tones  were  less 
speech  than  gloomy  reverberations. 

"  They  have  found  us." 

Tsang  came  up  to  him,  holding  in  his  hands  a 
huge,  dougle-edged  sword  of  the  Mings. 

"  Fate  has  overtaken  me  at  last,"  he  commented 
contentedly.  "  Thus  it  ever  is.  It  hauls  men  out  of 
bed  as  well  as  devouring  them  on  fields  of  battle. 
Who  can  hope  to  escape  by  panting  up  into  lofty 
towers  or  sneaking  into  the  earth's  rumbling  guts  ? 
Bah !  But  I  can  save  you  and  get  vengeance  for 
their  stealing  my  house.  This  is  a  Ming  sword. 
As  they  come  through  that  narrow  hole  I  will 
cut  their  heads  off  one  by  one.  You  can  get  out.  I 
will  give  myself  up  to  the  magistrate  and  tell  him 
that  more  than  fourteen  dayo  ago  you  went  down 
the  Si  Kiang  into  Tong  King;  you  can  go  to  Pakhoi 
[288] 


AND   SO   IT   ENDED 

then  get  a  junk  for  Singapore.  Let  my  wife  get  the 
babies  and  take  them  all  with  you." 

The  Breton  made  no  reply. 

"  Her  Excellency?  "  the  voice  of  Tsang  pleaded. 

He  hesitated. 

The  wife  unclasped  her  arms  and,  turning  to 
Tsang,  pointed  into  the  darkened  recesses. 

"Go!"  she  faltered. 

Stumbling,  reluctant,  the  two  peasants  went  into 
the  darkness,  then  looking  up  into  the  Breton's 
face  she  again  put  her  little  hands  upon  his  breast. 
For  a  moment  she  wavered,  then  her  eyes  closed 
and  softly  as  a  flower  whose  stem  is  severed,  she 
sank  to  the  floor. 

The  Breton  fell  on  his  knees  beside  her  and  lift- 
ing her  head  to  his  breast  brokenly  endeavoured 
to  coax  back  that  consciousness  which  had  left  him 
alone  in  the  depths  of  earth  and  dismay. 

In  the  outer  caverns  the  rumbling  noises  grew 
louder. 

The  fire  smouldered  though,  and  the  red  glow 
of  the  dying  embers  still  lighted  the  two  still 
forms. 

One  by  one  the  embers  darkened. 

Suddenly  a  priest,  followed  by  others,  burst  into 
the  cavern  and  in  a  moment  it  was  filled  with  their 
red-glaring  torches. 

The  Breton  did  not  move  nor  raise  his  head. 

Holding    their    flaming    knots    overhead,    the 
[289] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
priests  surrounded  the  two  motionless  figures  on 
the  cavern's  floor,  but  as  they  looked  their  clangour 
and  jibes  grew  still,  for  that  silencer,  Grief,  was 
amongst  them. 

Presently  one  of  them  stepped  from  out  of  the 
circle  and  rested  his  hand  on  the  Breton's  shoulder. 

"Come." 


[290] 


CHAPTER   NINE 
JUDGMENT 

WHILE  the  penal  laws  of  China  are  the 
old  codes  of  the  ancient  world,  their 
antiquity  is  not  significant  of  their  de- 
cay, and  though  some  of  them  were  in  force  on 
those  days  when  the  Rameses  held  their  High 
Courts;  when  Moses  judged  from  Sinai  and  Solon 
revised  the  Laws  of  Draco,  they  still  deal  out  jus- 
tice to  mankind.  While  Egypt's  Empire  is  buried 
under  a  waste  of  ages  and  the  marbles  of  Athens 
are  the  sarcophagus  of  its  laws  and  their  makers. 
The  Children  of  God,  no  longer  dwelling  under 
their  splintered  Mont,  are  lawless  and  scattered 
abroad  as  small  dust.  Yet  the  old  Code  of  China 
remains  vigorous  and  pristine,  exercising  in  the 
same  lands  their  power  over  one-third  the  human 
race. 

This  Code,  begun  at  that  period  the  Occi- 
dent regards  almost  as  civilisation's  break  of  day, 
is  not  less  than  a  Promethean  performance,  regard- 
less of  the  fact  as  to  whether  it  was  proclaimed  in 
the  beginning  of  human  institutions  or  at  the  pres- 
ent time.  No  example  of  man's  intellect  is  more 
remarkable.  It  not  only  has  all  the  principles  of 
[291] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
modern  legislature,  but  it  has  them  tempered  and 
strengthened  by  the  experience  of  the  fullest  ages 
of  man;  it  gives  the  right  of  pardon,  the  right 
of  appeal,  respect  for  individual  liberty,  and  holds 
responsible  magistrates  charged  with  repression  of 
crime.  It  is  majestic  in  its  plainness,  its  reasonable- 
ness, its  consistency  and  moderation.  Without  in- 
coherence, it  calmly,  concisely  lays  down  laws  for 
man's  conduct,  and  no  European  Code  is  at  once 
so  copious  and  consistent  or  is  so  free  from 
intricacy,  bigotry,  and  fiction  as  are  these  old  laws 
of  China. 

Yet  few  penal  codes  protray  so  many  appar- 
ently paradoxical  principles  of  judicature;  the 
unaccountable  mixture  of  cruelty  to  prisoners, 
mingled  with  a  paternal  solicitude  for  the  welfare 
and  happiness  of  the  people;  with  a  constant 
fatherly  effort  to  coax  them  into  obedience  and 
yet  with  the  hand  of  cold  rage  punishing  the  guilty. 
But  in  this  strange  attitude  is  exhibited  one  of  the 
basic  principles  of  Chinese  criminal  law;  by  the 
rigour  of  its  punishments  it  is  intended  that  the 
law  shall  operate  in  terrorem,  and  the  penalties 
laid  down  in  the  Code  are  almost  always  higher 
than  the  punishments  intended  to  be  inflicted.  This 
is  done,  not  only  that  the  sovereign  may  exercise 
his  mercy  beyond  the  bonds  of  the  law, — the  com- 
monness of  which  proving  its  beneficial  effects, — 
but  also  that  those  tempted  to  commit  crime  are  by 

[202] 


JUDGMENT 

the  very  terror  of  relentless  punishment  restrained 
in  pathways  of  uprightness. 

Let  it  be  said,  however,  that  in  all  its  phases 
the  Code  of  China — notwithstanding  the  terror 
of  its  punishments — shows  a  paternal  solicitude 
for  those  over  whom  it  lifts  its  terrible  but  not 
unkindly  hand.  Like  a  father  it  threatens  and 
coaxes;  like  a  mother  it  punishes  and  caresses. 
Thus  the  common  name  by  which  the  people  ad- 
dress magistrates  is  "  Our  Father  and  Mother." 
With  parental  care  this  heavy  Code  endeavours 
to  legislate  for  every  possible  contingency  and 
exercise  its  power  justly  in  all  of  the  infinite 
shades  of  difference  that  grow  out  of  human  con- 
tention. It  is  minute  yet  concise,  redundant  but 
direct;  it  is  restrictive,  making  the  responsibility 
of  officials  such  that  they  can  be  put  to  death  for 
not  enforcing  the  laws;  and  yet  it  permits  magis- 
trates many  liberties  provided  they  do  not  interfere 
with  the  ultimate  execution  of  justice.  Under  this 
Code  there  are  no  juries  to  panel,  there  are  no  law- 
yers to  delay  the  course  of  justice  nor  pervert  it. 
The  magistrate  is  judge,  jury,  and  lawyer.  He 
summons,  questions,  decides.  Trials  are  open  to 
the  public  and  there  is  heard  the  testimony  of  wit- 
nesses; there  it  is  considered  and  judgment  ren- 
dered. 

So  the  time  came  when  this  ancient  Code  was  to 
render  judgment  upon  the  wife  of  Tai  Lin;  this 
[293] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
same  old  code  that  had  for  almost  innumerable 
generations  punished  and  protected  a  vast  portion 
of  mankind;  a  code  that  they  looked  up  to  and  rev- 
erenced, a  code  possessing  for  them  awe  and  fear 
and  gratitude,  for  they  were  the  laws  their  fathers 
made  untold  ages  ago,  and  as  dutiful  children  they 
loved  as  they  dreaded  and  shunned  them.  So  the 
hour  came  when  a  lone  magistrate  empowered  by 
the  solemn  authority  of  laws  by  time  sanctioned 
was  to  render  judgment  upon  her.  There  was  to 
be  no  one  to  defend  her,  no  one  to  prosecute  her. 
It  was  simple ;  was  she  innocent  or  guilty?  If  guilty, 
were  there  extenuating  circumstances?  If  the  testi- 
mony showed  that  she  was  in  most  part  innocent 
she  should  go  free;  if  guilty,  since  her  husband 
demanded  it,  she  must  die.  If  she  denied  her  guilt 
she  should  be  recommended  to  the  sovereign  for 
mercy.  If  she  confessed,  then  must  she  be  cut  into 
a  thousand  pieces  naked  before  the  eyes  of  the 
multitude. 

Under  the  first  cold  pallor  of  day,  down  before 
the  Tablets  of  his  forefathers  in  the  Great  Ances- 
tral Hall,  sat  Tai  Lin.  All  night  and  part  of  the 
day  before  had  he  been  seated  there  with  his  face 
buried  in  his  hands.  Long  and  still  had  he  waited 
for  the  breaking  of  this  day  and  now  when  the 
pale,  inevitable  hour  had  come,  mingling  its  wane 
light  with  the  radiance  of  the  tapers,  he  did  not 
move. 

[294] 


JUDGMENT 

Toward  the  second  hour  after  sunrise  the  mag- 
istrate of  Namhoi  arrived,  followed  by  the  bishop 
and  French  Consul  together  with  their  retinues. 
They  entered  the  Ancestral  Hall.  Tai  Lin  lifted 
his  head  heavily  from  the  table  and  returned  their 
salutations  as  they  slowly  crossed  the  hall  and 
took  their  seats  beside  him.  Along  the  left  side 
sat  the  officials  of  the  magistrate's  court;  on  the 
right  the  French  Consul  and  priests  of  the  Mis- 
sion ;  all  of  which  Tai  Lin  saw  dully,  then  his  head 
sank  again  upon  the  table. 

The  magistrate  raised  his  hand;  there  was  a 
movement  among  those  stationed  in  the  lower  part 
of  the  hall,  but  the  prisoner  did  not  respond  to  this 
silent  command.  And  this  court  so  strangely  con- 
vened in  the  sanctuary  of  Tai  Lin's  fathers,  waited, 
frowned,  and  grew  restless. 

Suddenly  in  the  midst  of  this  increasing  impa- 
tience a  low  involuntary  ejaculation  burst  from  the 
lips  of  the  priests. 

On  the  left  side  of  the  hall  through  an  oval 
aperture,  half  hid  by  a  silken  curtain  and  illumined 
by  a  shaft  of  morning  sunlight,  stood  the  wife,  so 
radiant,  so  beautiful,  that  those  priests  who  had 
seen  her  only  as  dead  in  the  red  glaring  dusk  of 
their  torches  gaped  incredulously.  For  a  moment 
she  fluttered  in  the  sunlight,  then  stepped  lightly, 
daintily  into  the  Hall  of  the  Dead.  But  on  finding 
herself  in  the  midst  of  men  staring  at  her  in  silence, 
[295] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
she  stopped,  her  lustrous  eyes  widening  in  fright- 
ened wonder    and  clasping  her  hand  upon  her 
bosom  she  pressed  back  against  the  curved  lintel. 

The  magistrate  hesitated,  frowned,  then  made 
the  sign  for  her  to  come  forward  and  kneel  down 
before  him,  but  she  drew  back,  her  great  implor- 
ing eyes  looking  dumbly  about  her.  Finally  he 
raised  his  hand  and  the  first  clerk  on  the  left  rose 
and  read  the  charges;  namely,  that  she,  the  wife 
of  the  great  man,  Tai  Lin,  had,  on  the  night  of 
the  Propitiation  of  the  Gods  of  the  Waters,  stolen 
away  with  a  foreign  priest  and  had  lived  alone 
with  him  in  the  Grotto  of  the  Sleepless  Dragon. 
As  the  clerk  read  the  charge  and  its  details  she 
cast  a  hurried,  appealing  look  around  her  and 
trembling,  clutched  the  curtain  for  support. 

The  bishop  raised  his  hand,  at  which  sign  a 
priest  rose  and  testified  how  they  had  gone  into 
the  Great  Cavern  and  in  one  of  its  darkened  cham- 
bers came  upon  this  woman  and  a  priest.  She  was 
lying  upon  the  floor  with  her  head  resting  upon 
his  breast.  Tai  Lin  lifted  his  head  and  fastening 
his  dull  gaze  on  his  wife  devoured  each  detail  of 
the  priest's  recital,  and  as  priest  after  priest  testi- 
fied how  they  came  upon  the  guilty  pair  alone  in 
that  cavern's  most  solitary  chamber  his  face  began 
to  twitch  and  darken,  while  a  glow  came  into  his 
eyes. 

Suddenly  in  the  midst  of  a  priest's  testimony  he 
[296] 


JUDGMENT 

cried  out,  a  choking  strangled  cry,  a  cry  inarticu- 
late and  yet  so  vivid  in  its  anguish  that  it  sent  a 
tremor  through  all  those  in  that  great  room. 

The  wife  straightened  up,  for  a  moment  she 
wavered,  then  going  swiftly  over  to  him  she  fell 
on  her  knees  before  the  table  and  resting  her  little 
fingers  upon  the  edge  looked  up  into  his  face. 

"  My  husband,  do  not  do  that.  You  do  not 
know  how  it  hurt.  No,  no,  you  must  not — I  have 
done  wrong.  Do  not  be  angry  and  cry  out  as  you 
did.  It  was  terrible  for  you  to  do  that,  because  it 
is  all  over  and  I  have  suffered  more  than  all  these 
Yamen-men  can  lay  upon  me.  Forgive  me,  my 
husband,  send  these  men  away.  You  do  not  know 
how  they  frighten  me.  Won't  you  forgive  me? 
You  must  not  let  these  two  wee  moons  of  fault 
outweigh  my  years  of  love.  Don't  you  remember 
how  I  used  to  sit  on  the  stool  at  your  feet;  and 
you  let  me  pull  your  ears.  Won't  you  forgive  me, 
my  husband? 

"  No,  no,  you  must  not !  He  just  came  each  day 
and  went  away.  I  do  not  know  how  it  hap- 
pened. At  first  I  did  not  understand,  then  I  tried 
to  harden  my  heart,  but  each  day  when  he  re- 
turned my  frozen  resolution  melted  as  the  sun 
of  the  fourth  moon  melts  the  earth's  bosom  and 
brings  forth  again  the  verdure  of  spring.  I  do 
not  know  how  it  all  happened.  But  as  a  swimmer 
in  the  sea  was  my  little  heart  in  the  blue  deep  of 
[297] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

his  eyes,  and  each  day  their  tides  overwhelmed  my 
strength  and  bore  me  away  on  their  flood. 

"  No,  no,  he  did  no  wrong — his  love  was  not 
other  than  the  will-less  tide  that  some  light  from 
heaven " 

Tai  Lin  brought  his  fist  feebly  down  upon  the 
table.  He  tried  to  speak.  For  a  moment  the  tiny 
tips  of  the  wife's  fingers  clung  to  the  table's  edge. 
Frightened,  she  looked  up  into  his  face  convulsed 
with  rage,  then  her  fingers  slipped  and  she  fell 
sobbing  beside  the  table. 

The  bishop  leaned  over  and  spoke  to  the 
magistrate. 

"  Do  you  confess  your  guilt?  "  he  demanded. 

There  came  no  answer  but  her  sobs. 

"  Did  you  not  live  with  the  priest  in  the  Sleep- 
less Dragon  Cavern  ?  "  interrupted  the  magistrate. 

Paying  no  attention  to  his  question,  she  again 
lifted  her  hands  to  Tai  Lin.  For  some  time  there 
was  silence,  then  the  bishop  began  to  speak  in  a 
low,  firm  voice  that  would  have  been  chilling  had 
it  not  been  tempered  by  a  purring  gentleness. 

"  This  is  very  sad,"  he  commenced  in  tones  full 
of  pity,  "  but  it  is  necessary  that  justice  be  done. 
This  wife  insists  that  she  is  innocent — someone 
must  be  guilty.  If  she  is  without  sin  the  priest  must 
have  by  force  stolen  her  away  and  upon  him  pun- 
ishment must  fall.  Since  he  is  guilty,  he  shall 
die." 

[298] 


JUDGMENT 

As  the  bishop  leaned  back  in  his  chair  an  ap- 
proving murmur  rose  from  all  parts  of  the  hall. 

The  wife's  sobs  suddenly  ceased.  She  no  longer 
held  her  hands  to  Tai  Lin.  And  forgetful  of  all 
those  silent  men  around  her  she  dumbly,  beseech- 
ingly looked  up  into  the  bishop's  face. 

"  The  guilty  alone  must  die,"  he  repeated  in 
the  same  gentle,  decisive  tones. 

11  No  I  No!" 

"Yes;  we  must  have  justice,"  he  interrupted 
firmly,  "  for  the  knowledge  of  our  uprightness  is 
spread  over  all  countries  and  the  people  look  up 
to  us  for  it." 

"Oh,  why  do  you  say  that?"  she  cried,  hold- 
ing out  her  hands  to  him.  "  Is  it  not  better  to  give 
mercy  than  to  demand  justice?  I  know  you  men 
of  greatness  love  justice,  but  it  is  so  deep,  while 
mercy  is  like  the  heavens  where  every  little  act 
shines  out  as  the  light  of  a  star  and  tinges  the 
depths  of  whole  regions !  Oh,  Great  Sir,  don't  be 
just  and  your  fame  will  spread  over  all  lands. 
Nothing  is  so  wide  as  mercy.  Wherever  the  skies 
cast  their  shadows,  wherever  stars  shine,  wherever 
dews  fall  from  heaven,  men  will  love  you.  Oh,  do 
not  hurt  him — if  you  only  knew " 

Tai  Lin,  listening  to  her  sobbing  appeal,  again 
brought  his  fist  down  upon  the  table. 

The  bishop  leaned  forward  and  said  gently: 

"  If  he  is  guilty,  he  must  die." 
[299] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

She  made  no  reply. 

The  loud  ticking  of  the  Consul's  watch  rever- 
berated through  the  silent  hall. 

The  bishop  watched  her  keenly  and  a  frown 
came  upon  his  pallid  brow  as  her  head  sank  lower 
and  lower  upon  her  bosom. 

The  ticking  of  the  Consul's  watch  was  now 
drowned  in  the  deep  breathing  of  those  about  her. 

Presently  the  wife  raised  her  head  and  searched 
long  and  questioningly  the  eyes  of  the  bishop;  then 
slowly  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  looked  over  the 
head  of  her  judges,  somewhere  beyond  the  Great 
Golden  Altar  of  the  race  of  Tai.  A  calm  and  con- 
tented expression  came  into  her  face;  the  colour 
flowed  back  into  her  cheeks  and  a  happy  light 
filled  her  eyes. 

"  I  am  guilty,"  she  said  demurely. 

The  thin  lips  of  the  bishop  twitched,  and  he 
looked  over  at  Tai  Lin,  who  sat  grasping  the 
table's  edge  with  both  hands,  his  mouth  half  open, 
his  eyes  dull. 

"Whatl  Do  you  confess?"  demanded  the 
magistrate. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  in  low  tones,  still  looking 
over  their  heads  beyond  the  altar. 

"  You  confess  to  all  charges?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Did  you  persuade  the  priest?"  inquired  the 
bishop  mildly. 

[300] 


JUDGMENT 

She  looked  at  him  in  startled  wonder,  then 
again  her  head  sank  upon  her  bosom  and  only 
the  bishop,  her  husband,  and  magistrate  heard  the 
scarcely  audible  answer. 

"  Yes." 

The  hand  of  the  bishop  trembled  as  he  held  it 
before  his  lips;  again  he  looked  over  at  Tai  Lin, 
who  momentarily  sat  as  one  strangling,  then  rising, 
overturned  the  table  before  him  and  passed  half 
down  the  hall.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  clutched  at 
his  throat,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not  those 
near  took  hold  of  him  and  half  carrying,  dragged 
him  from  the  hall  of  his  fathers. 

The  magistrate  turned  to  the  bishop. 

"Does  he  mean  that?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  she  shall  be  given  the  silken  scarf  that 
she  may  die  in  the  seclusion  of " 

"Is  that  according  to  his  complaint?  Is  that 
in  accordance  with  the  law  ?  " 

"What!  You  would  not " 

"  Yes,"  interrupted  the  bishop  decisively. 

"  I  cannot,"  feebly  muttered  the  magistrate. 

"  It  is  his  demand — the  law  of  the  Empire  I 
'Dare  you  fail  to  enforce  it?  " 

The  quiet  tone  of  this  last  question  was  omi- 
nous and  the  magistrate  moved  uneasily;  he  pon- 
dered the  marble  floor;  sometimes  he  glanced  side- 
ways at  the  bishop  and  once,  lifting  his  eye  to 
[301] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
the  wife,  shuddered.  Then  the  bishop  touched  him 
firmly  on  the  arm  and,  turning  to  the  first  secre- 
tary on  his  left,  he  lifted  his  hand  and  the  clerk 
brought  him  the  Vermilion  Pencil. 

"  It  is  done." 

Again  the  lips  of  the  bishop  twitched. 

"  Remember,"  he  said,  leaning  over  and  whis- 
pering in  the  magistrate's  ear,  "  I  hold  you  re- 
sponsible for  the  carrying  out  of  the  law.  Beware 
she  does  not  die  beforehand." 

The  magistrate  rose  without  replying  and,  fol- 
lowed by  all  of  his  retinue  other  than  the  first 
clerk,  passed  out  of  the  hall.  The  bishop  leaned 
back  in  his  chair,  pulled  and  cracked  his  long  bony 
fingers  until  one  of  the  priests  came  and  spoke  to 
him.  A  frown  passed  across  his  face,  but  he  rose 
hastily,  and,  as  he  passed  the  wife  she  looked  up, 
moving  close  to  him. 

"Will  he  be  free?  "  she  asked  timidly. 

The  bishop  lowered  his  head  and,  as  he  whis- 
pered, her  eyes  sparkled  with  joy.  She  clapped 
her  little  hands  together  and  uttered  a  happy 
cry. 

Then  the  bishop  followed  by  his  priests  passed 
out  of  the  hall. 

The  first  clerk  still  continued  writing,   appar- 
ently oblivious  to  the  beautiful  woman,  who,  smil- 
ing to  herself,  still  gazed  over,  somewhere  beyond 
the  Golden  Tablets  of  Tai. 
[302] 


JUDGMENT 

"Foolish  woman,  why  did  you  confess?"  he 
demanded  brusquely. 

"  Oh,  I  did  not  know  what  else  to  do,"  she 
answered  lightly,  turning  her  head  to  one  side. 

"No  doubt,"  he  replied  gruffly;  "but  it  is  not 
the  first  time  a  woman's  tongue  has  been  the  knife 
to  lyngchee  her  body." 

"Indeed?"  she  inquired  mockingly. 

"Woman,  why  did  you  lie?"  he  continued 
harshly. 

She  turned  away. 

"  Why  did  you  lie?  "  he  demanded  again. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  interrupted  with  gay 
raillery.  "  Don't  you  see  that  I  but  follow  the  ways 
of  Nature,  wherein  the  straightest  trees  are  felled 
the  soonest,  and  the  cleanest  wells  are  first  drunk 
up;  wherein  the  most  innocent  bird  is  quickest 
netted,  and  the  tenderest  flower  is  first  plucked, 
that  it  for  one  fleeting  instant  might  pleasure  man's 
nostril?  Thus  in  such  fashion,  Mr.  Clerk,  must 
my  uprightness  be  cut  down;  my  good  name  and 
virtue  drunk  up;  my  innocence  conquered  and 
coffined  while  the  little  flower  of  my  life — plucked 

and  cast  aside Oh,  well,  I  do  not  grieve," 

she  continued  carelessly.  "  They  can  take  me 
away  from  earth,  but  not  from  him.  The  silken 
scarf  is  for  the  neck.  Whoever  heard  of  it 
strangling  the  heart?" 

"  Unfortunate  woman !  Unfortunate  woman !  " 
[303] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
interrupted  the  clerk,  rising.  "  There  is  to  be  no 
silken  scarf  for  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked,  startled. 

"  Woman,  do  you  not  know  the  law  ?  You  are 
to  die  naked  before  the  multitude." 

Lifting  her  little  hands  to  her  temples  she 
swayed  and  fell  down  before  him. 

"  No,  no,"  she  cried,  clutching  his  robe.  "  They 
have  all  gone  and  left  me  but  you,  won't  you  save 
me?  No,  no,  don't  go,"  she  pleaded,  holding  on 
to  his  robe  as  he  started  to  move  away.  "  Talk 
with  me.  How  can  you  leave?  Listen!  Why  can 
I  not  have,  in  all  this  wide  house  of  the  world,  just 
one  little  corner  to  die  in?  " 

"  I  can  do  nothing,"  he  replied,  his  rough  voice 
trembling.  "  You  are  to  die  by  the  lyngchee." 

Her  eyes  opened  wide  as  she  looked  up  at  him, 
then  she  sank  down,  pallid  on  the  floor  in  the  Hall 
of  the  Dead. 


[304] 


CHAPTER   TEN 
A    FRIEND 

THE  law  does  not  procrastinate  in  [China; 
and  the  execution  of  the  wife  was  fixed 
on  the  following  afternoon.  When  the 
sun  rose  that  day  out  of  a  fogless  sea  it  proved 
to  be  one  of  those  gentle  winter  mornings  of 
the  semi-tropics.  In  northern  latitudes  such  morn- 
ings are  often  called  the  smile  of  spring,  but  in 
this  land  they  are  more  than  the  birth  from  win- 
ter's womb — they  are  an  awakening  on  the  bosom 
of  summer  and  there  pervades  abroad  an  inex- 
pressible atmosphere  of  compassion.  On  such 
mornings  it  is  said  that  the  tiger  comes  forth  from 
his  lair  and  in  the  sunned  jungle  glade  lounges 
heedless  of  his  quarry,  so  that  neither  men  nor  the 
most  timid  of  jungle  deer  have  fear  of  him,  for 
the  peace  of  the  day  has  gone  into  his  terrible 
heart  and  he  purrs  and  purrs  and  purrs  like  a 
kitten  on  a  woman's  lap. 

In  other  lands,  upon  this  same  twenty-fourth 
day  of  winter,  whole  nations  were  meeting  to- 
gether around  their  Christmas  hearths;  their 
spirits  also  gentled  by  those  feelings  of  domestic 
love  and  attachment,  which  they  regard  as  hal- 
[305] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
lowed;  songs  and  laughter  burst  from  their  lips 
and  happy  with  remembrance  of  months  past, 
joyous  with  anticipation  of  those  future,  their 
carols  were  rising  upon  all  sides,  while  with  kind- 
nesses and  benevolence  they  sought  to  lift  their 
hearts  above  earth  and  with  the  shepherds  from 
their  sheepfold,  cry  peace  and  good  will  unto 
all. 

But  the  sunlight  of  this  day  as  well  as  its  spirit 
seemed  to  have  shunned  the  Catholic  Mission  of 
Yingching.  Within  its  Compound  were  neither 
songs  nor  laughter — only  a  brooding  silence, 
while  around  the  stern  Visgothic  Chapel  ranged, 
patrols  of  soldiers.  Whether  it  had  been  a  matter 
of  policy  with  the  bishop  or  whether  it  had  been 
included  in  the  agreement  between  Tai  Lin  and 
himself,  is  not  known,  but  from  the  time  the 
Breton  was  brought  from  the  Grotto  of  the  Sleep- 
less Dragon  he  had  been  confined  in  this  gloomy 
chapel  and  surrounded  by  a  battalion  of  Chinese 
troops. 

About  the  fourth  hour  after  the  sun  had  passed 
the  zenith  and  light  rifts  of  fog  were  beginning 
to  drift  in  from  the  sea,  a  man  passed  hastily 
through  the  south  gate  of  the  Mission  Compound 
and  emerged  from  the  cloisters  of  the  bishop's 
dwelling.  After  searching  with  quick  but  penetra- 
tive glances  the  court  surrounding  the  Chapel,  he 
let  his  chin  rest  upon  his  bosom  and,  putting  his 
[306] 


A   FRIEND 

hands  behind  his  back  walked  slowly,  thoughtfully, 
toward  the  Chapel. 

At  the  circle  of  troops  he  was  stopped. 

"What!"  he  cried  indignantly,  with  piping 
sternness. 

The  soldiers  did  not  move  and  an  officer  came 
up. 

"  Command  these  men  to  stand  aside.  I  am  the 
bishop." 

The  soldiers  drew  to  one  side  and  the  officers 
bowed.  In  front  of  the  Chapel  door  a  sentry 
barred  his  passage,  but  at  the  command  of  the 
officer  who  had  followed,  the  door  was  unbolted 
and  the  stranger  passed  within. 

"  Ha,  ha,  diplomacy !  diplomacy !  "  he  chuckled 
to  himself  as  he  stood  blinking  in  the  gloom  of  the 
low,  vaulted  vestibule.  "  Ha,  ha,"  and  he  pat- 
tered down  the  aisle  toward  the  altar,  crying  in 
a  shrill,  gleeful  voice: 

"  Well,  well,  let  me  coax  you  when  they  asked 
me  to  get  off  the  bund;  they  never  knew  what  I 
would  do.  To  obey  is  to  conquer;  to  smile  is  to 
be  supreme  as  Mrs.  Hook " 

The  Breton  rose  from  his  seat  on  the  altar  steps, 
and  resting  his  two  hands  on  the  shoulder  of  his 
visitor,  looked  down  into  his  eyes. 

The  Reverend  Hook  wriggled,  smiled  fur- 
tively, and  squirmed  from  under  the  Breton's 
gaze. 

[307] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

"Well,  here  I  am;  diplomacy,  mind  you,  diplo- 
macy. Made  up  my  mind  to  see  you;  see  you  I 
would — knew  it  would  not  be  for  long.  I  suppose 
you  are  next?  But  you  know  all  about  those  caves 
and  your  knowledge  must  not  be  lost.  That  would 
never  do.  Heard  you  were  more  than  a  mile  in- 
side— my — my Now  the  first  thing  I  want 

you  to  tell  me " 

The  Breton  turned  wearily  away  and  sat  down 
again  on  the  steps  of  the  altar. 

"Am  I  hurting  his  feelings?  Poor  diplo- 
macy, poor  diplomacy,"  muttered  the  Reverend 
Hook  to  himself. 

"  Well,  I  went  down  on  the  bund  this  morning," 
he  resumed  cheerily,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  Breton. 
"  It  is  all  fenced  except  the  waterside,  and  in  the 
very  spot — neither  a  foot  more  nor  less — exactly 
where  you  used  to  stand — the  very  place  where  I 
gave  you  the  maps  to  the  Grotto — they  have  put 
up  the  crucifix.  At  the  bottom  are  two  black  stones 
and  a  tub,  but  not  a  very  big  one.  On  the  left, 
under  a  red  silk  canopy,  are  three  chairs — don't 
understand  why  there  should  be  three.  Just  then 
a  priest  came  along  and  said  I  had  not  been  in- 
vited— think  of  that !  French  soldiers  strutting  up 
and  down — French  gunboats  anchored  along  the 
waterfront.  Now,  I  want  to  know  who  is  doing 
this  execution — Frenchmen  or  Chinese?  You  know 
I  am  a  good  friend  of  yours — or  I  would  never 
[308] 


A   FRIEND 

have  given  you  those  secrets  of  the  Dragon  Grotto, 
— but  I  want  to  say  that  these  Catholic  priests 
are  trying  to  run  this  country.  I  went  over  to 
our  Consul.  He  just  swore.  He  said  if  he  were 
God — he  is  a  blasphemous  wretch — he  would  in- 
vent something  new  in  hell  for  these  priests.  Kept 
getting  madder  and  madder,  then  he  grabbed  me 
by  the  collar  and  threw  me  out  of  the  door.  That 
crazy  Consul  has  the  Missionphobia — but  he  won't 
last.  He  can't  mistreat  an  American  Methodist 
missionary  with  impunity;  let  me  coax  you.  What 
have  I  got  to  do  with  this  business  on  the  bund? 
I  gave  you  the  secrets  of  the  Grotto,  but  how  did 
I  know  that  all  this  was  going  to  happen?  " 

For  some  moments  the  Reverend  Hook  became 
contemplative,  then  he  began  to  shake  his  head. 

"  Terrible,  terrible,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  so 
beautiful,  so  beautiful — and  I  will  never  see  her, 
and  all  those  others  will.  And  they  will  take  off 
her  clothes.  Oh,  oh,  oh." 

His  breath  and  words  failed  him.  He  pattered 
back  and  forth  before  the  altar  in  little  restless 
strides. 

The  Breton  sat  bowed  upon  the  altar  steps. 

"  Why  don't  those  countries  with  gunboats  stop 
it!  Why  don't  they  stop  it!"  he  cried  shrilly, 
'never  ceasing  his  nervous  patter,  and  casting  hur- 
ried glances  at  the  priest  as  he  repassed  the  altar 
steps. 

[309] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

Suddenly  he  stopped. 

"Why  don't  you  do  something?" 

The  Breton  raised  his  head. 

"Why  don't  you  do  something?"  repeated  the 
Reverend  Hook  in  shriller  tones. 

"Do  what?"  asked  the  Breton  wearily. 

"  Do  what?  Stop  it!  Stop  it!  " 

The  Breton  looked  at  him. 

"The  execution!" 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,"  replied  the 
Breton. 

"What?"  screeched  the  Reverend  Hook, 
jumping  back  and  throwing  up  his  hands.  "  You 
have  nothing  to  do  with  it?  " 

The  Breton  with  a  sigh  bowed  his  head,  while 
his  visitor  stood  looking  at  him  appalled. 

Presently  he  began  to  walk  back  and  forth,  mut- 
tering aloud. 

"  I  did  not  think  it — how  can  he  do  it?  Gave 
up  everything  for  him — so  beautiful,  so  beautiful. 
Thus  they  throw  themselves  away;  always  have 
done  it,  always  will,  all  except  Mrs.  Hook.  Now 
they  are  going  to  take  off  her  clothes — before 
those  Frenchmen — cut  the  skin  of  her  beautiful 
brow  and  let  it  hang  down  over  her  eyes — eyes 
that  made  men  tremble.  Then  they  will  cut  off 
her  little  ears  and  pieces  from  her  cheeks.  Then 
her  lips — and  to  think  he  has  kissed  them.  Then 
her  white  arms — then  her  beautiful — beautiful — 


A    FRIEND 

Oh !  oh !  oh !  And  he  sleeps  here,  doubled  up  like 
a  ground-hog!  " 

The  Reverend  Hook's  excitement  overcame 
him,  and  weeping  copiously  he  pattered  over  and 
stood  in  front  of  the  priest.  After  several  efforts 
he  mumbled  lugubriously. 

"  I  am  going,  but  I  want  to  say  that  I  didn't 
think  it." 

The  Breton  looked  up. 

"  You  are  going?  " 

"  And  I  want  to  say  that  I  didn't  think  it,"  he 
sobbed. 

"  What?  "  asked  the  Breton  drearily. 

"  That  you  would  let  them  kill  her." 

The  Breton  sat  erect,  his  eyes  searching.  Then 
springing  to  his  feet  he  seized  his  visitor  and  thrust 
him  back  to  where  the  last  glimmer  of  narrow  sun- 
light fell  upon  his  face. 

"  Don't,  don't — at  sunset  they  lyngchee " 

Sometimes  there  comes  from  the  lips  of  men  a 
cry  that  no  one  can  describe,  unless  it  be  compared 
to  that  abandoned  cry  that  is  said  to  have  come 
from  a  Crucifix  some  centuries  ago,  but  which 
echoes  yet  at  times  from  hearts  of  other  men;  so 
now  there  came  such  a  cry  from  the  lips  of  the 
Breton.  He  staggered  back,  and  his  hands  clutch- 
ing at  his  throat,  tore  open  the  bosom  of  his  long 
black  robe;  he  tottered  against  the  altar  and  bent 
over  it.  Then  it  was  that  the  Great  Symbol  of  the 
[3"] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
Tien  Tu  Hin  fell  from  his  bared  bosom  and  lay 
gleaming  upon  the  outer  folds  of  his  robes,  its 
terrible  green  jewel  glistering  in  the  dun  shadows 
of  the  Chapel  as  the  tiger's  eye  glitters  in  the 
jungle's  dusk. 

Suddenly  the  Breton  drew  himself  up,  and  shak- 
ing his  head  and  shoulders  as  a  wounded  animal, 
threw  open  the  Chapel  door;  for  a  moment  he 
stood  under  the  vaulted  entrance  and  the  slanting 
rays  of  the  sun  fell  on  the  Great  Symbol. 
i>  The  sentry  looked  up,  hesitated,  looked  again 
at  the  glittering  Eye,  and  dropped  upon  his  knees. 
A  patrol  of  soldiers  started  to  rush  forward,  then 
stopped;  awe  and  reverence  overcast  their  fea- 
tures, for  there,  under  the  gloomy  vestibule,  in 
the  red  sunlight,  calm  and  yet  awful,  stood  their 
prisoner — upon  his  bosom  the  Eye  of  the  Age's 
Wrath. 

As  the  Breton  advanced  toward  them  many  fell 
upon  their  knees  and  struck  their  foreheads  thrice 
upon  the  ground.  An  officer  from  one  of  the  build- 
ings in  the  rear  shouted  for  the  soldiers  to  seize 
him,  but  this  command  was  no  sooner  heard  than 
those  kneeling  rose,  and  marshalled  themselves 
behind  him.  Other  soldiers  came  with  their  guns 
and  formed  another  line,  and  those  that  did  not 
follow  saw  upon  the  faces  of  this  guard,  which 
constituted  more  than  half  of  the  battalion,  the 
sternness  of  death.  As  the  Breton  moved  toward 


A   FRIEND 

the  north  gate,  apparently  oblivious  to  those  that 
followed  him,  the  soldiers  dropped  their  queues 
over  their  right  shoulders  in  a  loop,  then  bringing 
the  end  around  the  neck,  tied  it  in  two  loose  slip- 
knots to  the  loop — all  of  which  is  called  the  Sign 
of  Shou.  Carrying  their  guns  in  the  left  hand  they 
held  their  right  hands  over  their  heads  with  the 
thumb  pointing  upward,  and  as  they  went  out  of 
the  Mission  gate  there  went  up  that  terrible  cry: 
"Hung  Shun  Tien!" 


I3i3l 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 
ELOI,   ELOI,    LAMA   SABACTHANI 

EARLY  upon  the  day  of  the  execution  four 
French  gunboats  and  a  cruiser  got  up 
steam  and  moved  slowly  down  the  river 
toward  the  bund.  The  cruiser  anchored  opposite 
the  place  of  execution  with  the  gunboats  on  either 
side  of  it  but  nearer  to  the  bund,  so  that  the  five 
vessels  formed  a  cordon  in  shape  of  a  semi-circle. 
From  within  this  space  all  river  craft  were  driven 
out  and  the  guns  of  the  warships  trained  across 
the  empty  waters  upon  the  bund,  where  early  in 
the  morning  guards  of  marines  landed.  On  these 
warships  the  day  wore  slowly,  tiresomely  along, 
and  it  was  not  until  lengthening  shadows  began  to 
creep  reluctantly  across  the  river  that  they  became 
enlivened  with  men  clustering  over  their  rigging 
and  sides,  laughing  with  jests. 
1  The  Viceroy,  to  prevent  the  execution  from  pre- 
cipitating a  riot  or  collision  with  foreigners,  had 
previously  posted  proclamations  that  no  one 
should  come  forth  from  their  homes  or  traverse 
the  Street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens  for  seven  blocks 
back  from  the  bund;  neither  were  they  to  be  seen 
upon  the  waterfront  for  seven  blocks  east  and 
west  of  the  Street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens.  So 
[314] 


ELOI,  ELOI,  LAMA  SABACTHANI 
that,  when  the  soft,  mellow  sunlight  of  this  event- 
ful day  streamed  down  upon  the  deserted  streets, 
bathing  their  unaccustomed  solitude  in  a  serene, 
peaceful  warmth,  it  made  these  turbulent  thor- 
oughfares appear  like  village  streets  basking  in 
spring  sunshine. 

About  the  third  hour  in  the  afternoon  sedan 
chairs,  soldiers,  officers  on  horseback,  and  pedes- 
trians began  to  come  into  the  vacant  Street  of 
the  Sombre  Heavens,  and  soon  the  enclosed  space 
on  the  bund  became  a  scene  not  less  brilliant  than 
it  was  ominous.  The  crowd  assembled  there  stood 
about  in  the  form  of  a  crescent  blunted  on  the  left 
horn  and  facing  the  river;  petty  mandarins  in  offi- 
cial gold-brocaded  robes,  red-coated  soldiers,  and 
French  marines  in  white  and  blue,  Manchus 
clothed  in  rich  stuffs,  and  French  officers,  gold- 
laced  and  brilliant,  formed  in  parts  this  bizarre 
horn,  in  whose  centre  stood  a  crucifix  with  black 
stones  and  tub  beside  it. 

Over  all  brooded  a  silence. 

About  an  hour  before  sunset  a  salute  was  fired 
from  the  cruiser,  and  two  boats  crossed  the  open 
waters.  In  their  sterns  were  the  Bishop  of  Ying- 
ching  and  officers  of  the  Fleet.  As  the  boats  ap- 
proached the  bund  the  marines  were  drawn  up 
in  double  ranks,  extending  from  the  landing  stage 
to  the  three  ebony  chairs  under  the  silken  canopy. 

The  bishop  was  first  to  ascend  the  ladder,  and 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
as  he  stepped  upon  the  bund  he  drew  himself  up 
to  his  fullest  stature,  scrutinising  those  assembled 
before  him;  then  with  slow  steps,  with  haughti- 
ness, solitary  and  full  of  unmeasured  pride,  walked 
down  the  files  of  marines  to  the  elevated  platform 
beneath  the  canopy.  For  a  fleeting  moment  he 
hesitated,  then  sat  down  in  the  middle  chair.  A 
group  of  French  officers,  glittering  in  gold  lace, 
followed  and  took  up  their  station  to  the  right, 
while  part  of  the  marines  drew  off  to  one  side  of 
the  gate,  part  on  the  other. 

The  sun  was  sinking. 

The  French  officers  gaily  carried  on  their  ani- 
mated conversation.  The  bishop  was  silent.  And 
the  Chinese,  in  spite  of  their  brilliant  robes,  were 
grave,  uneasy;  anxiously  they  cast  their  eyes  at 
the  sun  slanting  through  the  rigging  of  the  war- 
ships, but  not  until  it  had  sunk  below  the  gun- 
platforms  on  the  masts  did  the  rolling  boom  of 
kettle-drum  break  the  oppressive  stillness.  This 
was  echoed  from  without  by  clash  of  cymbals  and 
blare  of  trumpet;  the  marines  presented  arms  and 
the  Chinese  troops  drew  up  in  order. 

The  magistrate  approached. 

When  the  flag-bearers  and  musicians  came  on 
the  bund  the  spectators  rose  upon  their  tiptoes  to 
see  enter  three  stolid  men  dressed  in  flowing  gar- 
ments of  the  Ming  dynasty,  and  from  whose  caps 
waved  the  golden  pheasant's  long,  slender  plume. 
[316] 


ELOI,  ELOI,  LAMA  SABACTHANI 
The  first  carried  a  huge  beheading  sword  upright 
before  him,  glinting  in  the  red  rays  of  the  sun. 
One  of  the  others  carried  a  small  basket  of  knives 
— the  cutting  up  knives,  while  about  the  neck  of 
the  third  were  suspended  ropes  and  chains.  These 
men  went  over  and  stood  beside  the  crucifix.  Be- 
hind the  executioners  had  followed  a  half-dozen 
men  carrying  red,  oblong  boards  attached  to  long 
handles  and  inscribed  in  golden  characters;  some 
denoting  the  magistrate's  honours  and  rank, 
others  commanding  the  people  to  keep  out  of  the 
way  and  be  quiet,  Two  officers  on  horseback  rode 
behind  them,  followed  by  three  men,  one  bearing 
an  official  fan,  another  a  crimson  table  to  place 
before  the  magistrate,  while  the  third  bore  a  gold- 
embroidered  umbrella  of  state.  After  these  came 
men  dressed  in  long  red  robes  and  black,  conical 
hats,  who  were  the  "  wolves  and  tigers  "  of  the 
Yamen,  and  their  passage  was  of  crackling  whips, 
the  rattle  and  grind  of  chains ;  the  clanking  crunch 
of  implements  of  torture.  After  them  came  men 
swinging  censers,  which  left  streams  of  fragrant 
smoke  along  the  pathway,  and  half  hid  in  these 
clouds  of  incense  pattered  two  old  men,  receiving 
petitions  from  the  people.  The  sedan  of  the  mag- 
istrate now  entered,  followed  by  officers  on  horses 
and  soldiers  carrying  arms  and  flags. 

When  the  magistrate  stepped  out  of  his  sedan 
under  the  canopy  he  started  in  unrestrained  as- 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
tonishment.  The  bishop,  without  rising,  nodded 
his  head  in  salutation.  Slowly  the  magistrate  went 
and  sat  down  on  the  bishop's  left,  and  before  him 
was  placed  the  crimson-covered  table;  upon  it  the 
Vermilion  Pencil. 

The  sun  had  sunk  below  the  house  tops  of 
Honan. 

The  bishop  frowned  and  glanced  impatiently 
toward  the  gate. 

Flecks  of  night  fog  scurrying  along  the  sky 
were  being  tinged  with  the  last  rays  of  the  sun, 
when  a  solitary  sedan  was  borne  swiftly,  silently 
through  the  gate  to  the  vacant  chair  under  the 
red  canopy. 

Those  that  had  known  Tai  Lin  looked  in  horror 
at  the  shrunken,  quavering  old  man,  who  now  sat 
down  on  the  bishop's  right — a  shuddering  of 
shrivelled  skin. 

"  Is  he  alive  ?  "  whispered  one  man  to  another. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  doubt  it." 

"  Look  at  his  eyes." 

They  were  like  coals.  The  spectators  were  fas- 
cinated by  them,  and  the  terror  of  what  was  to 
happen  crept  upon  all.  Many  furtively  looked 
toward  the  gate;  others  turned  away  to  the  river; 
some  watched  the  three  executioners  beside  the 
crucifix;  others  looked  at  the  bishop. 

Suddenly  there   was   a   movement   among  the 
[318] 


ELOI,  ELOI,  LAMA  SABACTHANI 
troops  at  the  gateway  as  a  sedan,  mournful  in  blue 
and  white  and  thickly  surrounded  by  soldiers,  was 
carried  across  the  bund  and  silently  put  down  in 
front  of  the  magistrate.  The  soldiers  filed  to  one 
side,  the  curtain  was  drawn  and  the  wife  stepped 
daintily  out. 

When  her  eyes  rested  upon  the  magistrate  who 
had  judged  her  she  drew  up  to  her  full  height, 
tossed  back  her  head,  while  a  flush  darkened  the 
delicate  pallor  of  her  cheeks. 

The  spectators  surged  forward,  and  as  they 
looked  upon  her  there  went  over  them  something 
like  a  great  sigh. 

The  wife,  turning  away  from  the  magistrate, 
perceived  the  bishop  leaning  forward  in  his  chair. 
Instantly,  as  a  shaft  of  sunlight,  a  rare,  sweet  smile 
dimpled  her  features,  and  in  the  joy  of  her  grati- 
tude she  moved  closer,  spontaneously  holding  out 
her  hands.  But  as  she  stepped  toward  him  smiling 
so  happily,  so  gratefully,  the  bishop  became  im- 
movable, as  one  paralysed  by  fear.  His  thin,  tight 
lips  opened,  his  cavernous  eyes  grew  dull,  his  face 
became  chalky,  then,  with  an  effort,  he  shrunk 
back  in  his  chair. 

Tai  Lin  had  never  moved  nor  uttered  a  sound 
since  he  had  taken  his  seat,  but  when  the  bishop 
recoiled  from  the  tiny  thankful  hands  of  the  wife, 
he  was  no  longer  hid  from  her,  and  she  looked 
up  into  his  burning  eyes,  into  his  face,  where  over 
1319] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
the  loose-hanging  skin  a  myriad  deep-crossed 
wrinkles  charactered  the  pain  and  wrack  of  a 
strong  man's  heart.  For  a  moment  her  slender 
form  swayed,  she  pressed  her  little  hands  together, 
then  held  them  up  to  him;  her  lips  parted,  and 
falling  before  him  she  clasped  his  legs  in  her  arms. 

The  straining  ears  of  the  spectators  could  hear 
no  sound  as  they  watched  her  body  tremble  with 
sobs;  nor  could  they  see  any  leniency  creep  into  the 
face  of  Tai  Lin  as  he  leaned  over  and  peered 
down  at  her. 

Blindly  she  reached  up  her  hand,  and  the  crowd 
saw -him  shrink  back,  a  sweat  breaking  out  upon 
his  face  when,  in  her  blind  fumbling,  she  found 
one  of  his  nerveless  hands  and  drew  it  down  to 
her  cheek.  Breathlessly,  fearfully  the  spectators 
watched  the  flames  in  his  eyes  flicker  and  then — 
go  out:  they  saw  him  reach  down  his  other  hand 
and  rest  it  upon  her  head;  his  lips  moved,  but  no 
one  heard  what  he  said  unless 

The  bishop  straightened  up  in  his  chair,  a  scowl 
swept  across  his  face,  and  touching  the  magistrate 
on  the  arm,  spoke  to  him,  with  an  imperious  ges- 
ture toward  the  wife  sobbing  at  the  feet  of  Tai 
Lin. 

The  magistrate  hesitated,  then  picked  up  the 

Vermilion  Pencil.  Slowly,  weighingly,  he  lifted  it, 

and  two  of  the  executioners  sprang  forward  and, 

seizing  the  wife,  dragged  her  over  to  the  crucifix. 

[320] 


ELOI,  ELOI,  LAMA  SABACTHANI 
Tai  Lin  sat  for  a  moment  stupefied  then,  half- 
rising  and  uttering  a  cry,  he  held  out  his  hands. 
Again  a  frown  swept  across  the  bishop's  face  and 
leaning  over  he  spoke  to  him  in  low,  rapid  tones. 
As  he  talked,  now  and  then  snapping  his  fingers, 
an  uneasy  movement  began  to  ebb  in  the  crowd. 
Presently  Tai  Lin's  head  sank  upon  his  bosom 
and  the  bishop,  turning  away,  nodded  to  the  mag- 
istrate. The  Vermilion  Pencil  was  again  lifted 
from  the  crimson  table.  The  executioners  that  had 
dragged  the  wife  to  the  crucifix  tore  in  twain  her 
long  outer  robe  and  threw  it  aside.  At  this  her 
tears  and  supplications  ceased.  Two  spots  burned 
redly  in  her  cheeks. 

Tai  Lin  bent  forward,  grasping  the  arms  of 
his  chair.  Those  spectators  that  once  looked  at 
him  did  not  turn  away  nor  look  at  the  wife.  The 
fascination  of  her  beauty  was  less  than  that  of 
his  terror.  They  watched  his  eyes  glow  and  burn 
in  their  sunken  sockets  until  a  dull  film  came  over 
them.  Yet  no  one  in  all  that  great  crowd  saw  him 
breathe  nor  show  any  twitching  signs  of  life.  He 
looked  to  many  like  the  carven  image  that  is 
found  in  the  Temple  of  Death. 

The  executioners  ranged  the  black  stones  side 
by  side  so  that  there  was  a  space  of  about  three 
inches  between  them.  They  stood  the  wife  against 
the  crucifix,  but  in  stretching  out  her  arms  found 
that  the  cross  piece  was  low  and  in  their  haste 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
they  were  a  long  time  altering  it.  During  these 
painful  moments  not  a  sound   nor  movement  came 
from  those  crowded  there. 

Finally  they  tied  her  to  the  cross  with  thongs 
about  her  wrists  and  ankles  and  one  that  pressed 
into  the  soft  delicate  contour  of  her  neck.  Thus 
she  stood  looking  somewhere  over  and  beyond 
those  assembled  around,  her  great,  mournful  eyes 
filled  with  the  light  and  shadows  of  other  thoughts, 
but  wholly  oblivious  to  the  terror  about  her  and 
to  the  fear  that  brooded  there. 

The  executioner  stepped  up  to  her  and  rested 
his  hand  upon  the  bosom  of  her  silken  jacket.  But 
as  he  moved  his  hand  to  tear  it  off  there  came  a 
choking  cry. 

Tai  Lin  had  risen  to  his  feet;  heavily  he  lifted 
his  hands  and  the  spectators  could  see  he  was 
trying  in  vain  to  speak  as  one  gasps  in  a  night- 
mare. He  shook  his  quavering  head  and  a  foam 
oozed  out  of  the  corners  of  his  mouth.  Then  as 
the  executioner  again  raised  his  hand,  Tai  Lin 
with  stupendous  effort  held  out  his  heavy  arms  to 
her.  His  face  became  purple,  his  lips  black,  and 
a  bloody  ooze  seeped  out  of  them.  A  tremor 
passed  through  his  gaunt  form.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  still  and  erect,  then  his  arms  fell  to  his 
side  and  he  sank  down  lifeless  in  his  chair.  A  con- 
vulsive movement  shot  through  the  multitude, 
followed  by  breathless  silence. 


ELOI,    ELOI,   LAMA   SABACTHANI 

The  wife  waited  with  closed  eyes  for  the  brutal 
hand.  She  did  not  see  Tai  Lin  rise  from  his  chair; 
she  did  not  hear  his  choked  cry,  nor  know  that 
he  had  fallen  dead.  Now  and  then  a  tear  strug- 
gled out  and  lingered  momentarily  on  her  long 
lashes.  These  little  salt  globules  were  the  only 
signs  of  life  in  her,  and  the  eyes  of  some  watched 
them  trickle  away  drop  by  drop. 

Presently  men  turned  to  look  at  one  another, 
then  a  wave  of  consternation  swept  over  the  bund. 
They  began  to  whisper.  And  it  was  in  the  midst 
of  this  terrified  hum  that  the  magistrate  raised  his 
hand  in  command  of  silence. 

"  The  Great  Man,  Tai  Lin,  has  saluted  the 
World.  He  alone  was  the  accuser.  The  prisoner 
is  free." 

As  the  executioner  cut  the  deep-sunk  thongs 
away  and  the  wife  sank  down  unconscious  at  the 
foot  of  the  crucifix,  there  rose  a  noise  half  a  sigh, 
half  a  strange  murmur,  the  voice  of  this  multitude, 
a  crowd  of  men  that  shrank,  shivered,  then  surged 
forward  to  look  at  the  dead  man  still  in  the  chair 
and  a  slender  body  lying  limp  at  the  foot  of  the 
cross,  beautiful  even  in  the  guise  of  death;  neck- 
laced  with  a  ribbon  of  bruised  flesh,  braceletted 
with  wristlets  of  angry  red. 

It  was  over  this  swaying,  murmuring  mob  that 
the  bishop  rose  and  lifted  his  hand  imperiously. 

"  How  is  it,"  he  cried  in  clear,  ringing  tones, 
[323] 


THE  VERMILION  PENCIL 
"  that  a  magistrate  of  the  Middle  Kingdom  dares 
hush  up  a  public  crime?  This  guilty  woman  was 
taken  in  the  midst  of  her  sin.  In  trial  she  con- 
fessed her  guilt  and  was  condemned  by  the  law  and 
her  husband's  command.  Dare  a  magistrate  act 
contrary  to  this?  Dare  he  act  contrary  to  the  three 
hundred  and  eighty-first  section  of  the  Code?  Let 
him  beware !  " 

The  bishop  turned,  and  with  his  thin  lips  curl- 
ing looked  sternly  down  upon  the  astonished  mag- 
istrate. Over  the  bund  fell  a  stillness — the  silence 
of  suspense.  The  eyes  of  the  spectators,  propped 
widely  open,  did  not  look  away  from  the  pallid 
man  towering  above  them — with  his  relentless 
gaze  rivetted  upon  his  fellow  judge. 

The  magistrate  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair.  He 
looked  at  the  warships  riding  sombrely  at  their 
anchorage,  he  contemplated  the  marines  drawn  up 
at  the  gateway  and  the  chained,  watchful  cannon. 
He  studied  thoughtfully  his  Vermilion  Pencil. 
Presently  he  raised  his  hand. 

"  Does  the  Eldest  Son  of  the  Great  Man  Tai 
Lin  demand  death?  " 

There  came  no  answer. 

"  Does  any  member  of  the  Tai  family  demand 
her  death?" 

Not  a  sound  replied  but  the  crowd's  deep 
breathing  and  a  faint  wavering  hum  from  the 
city. 

[324] 


ELOI,    ELOI,    LAMA   SABACTHANI 

"  Does  any  man  of  the  Middle  Kingdom  de- 
mand the  cutting  into  pieces  of  this  woman?" 

The  multitude  held  its  breath,  straining  to  catch 
the  slightest  sound  that  might  be  the  noise  of  a 
human  voice.  But  they  heard  only  the  running 
waters  sobbing  below  their  feet  and  the  last  dis- 
tant echo  of  the  day's  work. 

The  magistrate  lay  down  his  Vermilion  Pencil 
and  looked  triumphantly  at  the  bishop,  but  his 
implacable  gaze  did  not  alter  and  the  smile  of  the 
magistrate  was  lost. 

"  She  is  free." 

"  Ah !  "  The  bishop  uttered  this  exclamation  so 
softly  that  the  magistrate  alone  heard  and  he 
looked  furtively  away. 

"  It  is  in  accordance  with  the  law,"  he  replied. 

"Ah!" 

"  No  one  demands  it." 

"Ah!" 

"  You  are  not  a  man  of  the  Middle  King- 
dom." 

A  slight  smile  curled  the  bishop's  thin  lips  as  he 
drew  a  package  from  his  robe  and  threw  it  down 
upon  the  table. 

The  magistrate  carelessly,  even  with  hauteur, 
opened  it.  As  he  read,  a  pallor  came  into  his  yel- 
law  face  and  his  hand  shook  as  though  with  palsy 
when  he  refolded  the  document.  Again  he  turned 
his  eyes  toward  the  grim  warships  in  the  river; 
[325] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

again  to  the  calm,  stern  array  of  marines  and  their 
cannon  unchained  and  alert. 

He  leaned  over  his  table  as  one  in  a  stupor. 

Immovable  the  bishop  towered  over  him,  his 
lips  tight  drawn,  his  eye  fixed. 

The  magistrate  lifted  the  Vermilion  Pencil. 

The  spectators  had  watched  this  conversation 
between  the  bishop  and  the  magistrate  without 
comprehending  what  had  passed  between  them, 
but  when  they  again  saw  the  Vermilion  Pencil  rise 
slowly,  when  they  saw  the  executioners  lift  up  the 
still  unconscious  woman  from  the  foot  of  the  cross 
and  revive  her,  a  shudder  passed  through  them. 
They  swayed  backward  as  from  a  sudden  yawning 
of  an  abyss.  They  were  shoved  backward  one 
over  another  until  the  bund  around  the  crucifix 
was  again  clear. 

The  executioner,  having  revived  the  wife, 
bound  her  once  more  to  the  crucifix;  again  the 
thongs  hid  the  red  rings  around  her  wrists  and 
neck.  Her  eyes,  still  moist  with  tears,  cast  one 
fleeting,  reproving  look  around  her,  full  of  in- 
jured, startled  wonder. 

Then  the  executioner  with  the  beheading  sword 
came  and  stood  on  the  right  of  the  crucifix;  the 
one  with  the  reviving  sponge  stood  on  the  left, 
while  in  front  of  her  was  the  other,  his  sleeves 
rolled  up  and  by  his  side  a  small  basket  of  knives. 
These  men  did  not  take  their  eyes  away  from  the 
[326] 


ELOI,    ELOI,    LAMA   SABACTHANI 
pencil  of  death,  which  again  lay  on  the  crimson 
cloth. 

The  Pencil  moved. 

Involuntarily  the  spectators  turned  away  as 
they  heard  a  cry  of  gentle  protestation. 

The  executioner  cut  the  left  shoulder  of  her 
jacket,  laying  bare  her  arm  and  part  of  her  bosom, 
which  was  not  unlike  ivory  sheened  with  the  pink 
of  silk.  She  looked  up  into  the  face  of  her  slayer, 
and  those  spectators  that  dared  to  raise  their  eyes 
saw  his  hand  waver.  Then  the  ascending  Pencil 
stopped.  The  first  stroke  was  now  to  be  given. 

When  the  Breton  went  out  of  the  Mission  gate 
followed  by  the  Children  of  the  Deluge,  he  turned 
east  upon  Old  River  Street  and  as  he  went  along 
there  rose  at  certain  intervals  that  terrible  cry, 
"  Hung  Shun  Tien !  "  Men  stopped  in  their  la- 
bour at  the  sound  of  this,  and  when  they  saw  the 
tall  black-robed  Breton  with  the  Great  Symbol 
gleaming  on  his  bosom,  when  they  saw  the  stern, 
armed  array  behind  him  holding  overhead  their 
right  hands  with  thumbs  pointing  upward,  they 
either  drew  back  in  consternation  or  put  aside  the 
implements  of  their  labour  and  joined  themselves 
to  this  body  of  sombre  men.  They  asked  no  ques- 
tions; they  looked  neither  to  the  right  nor  to  the 
left,  but  simply  dropped  their  queues  over  their 
right  shoulders  in  a  loop  and  brought  the  end 
[327] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 
around  the  neck,  tying  it  in  the  Sign  of  Shou. 
Then  they  held  their  right  hands  overhead  and 
when  the  others  cried  out:  "Hung  Shun  Tien!" 
so  cried  they. 

In  this  manner  beggars  peeped  out  of  their 
holes  and  joined  them.  Merchants  came  from 
their  gilded  shops  and  rolling  up  their  silken  robes 
took  their  places  beside  the  beggars.  Thieves 
crept  out  from  their  hidings  and  sentries  left  their 
stations.  Hucksters  put  down  their  trays  and 
scholars  their  brushes.  Itinerant  barbers,  physi- 
cians, cooks,  fortune-tellers,  robbers,  clerks,  silk 
robes,  and  tatters;  youths  and  tottering  old  men; 
from  mansions  and  cellars  and  hovels  and  holes 
came  the  Children  of  the  Deluge  to  follow  the 
black-robed  man  upon  whose  bosom  the  Symbol 
rested. 

As  the  Deluge  burst  through  the  labyrinthine 
windings  of  the  suburbs  in  their  race  with  death, 
the  old  men  and  those  that  were  feeble,  panting, 
and  wheezing,  dropped  out,  but  new  recruits  took 
their  places  and  the  flood  was  swollen  as  it  rushed 
along,  so  that  before  the  head  debouched  into  the 
Street  of  the  Sombre  Heavens,  the  rear  could  no 
longer  hear  the  battle-cry  of  the  van  falling  so- 
norous and  terrible  upon  the  silence  of  twilight. 

The  wife  had  closed  her  eyes,  waiting  for  the 
stroke  that  would  cause  the   drooping  brow  to 
[328] 


ELOI,    ELOI,    LAMA   SABACTHANI 
close  them  forever.     The   executioner  had  raised 
his  knife  when  there  fell  upon  the  silence  of  the 
bund  a  rumble,  a  roar,  and  then  that  cry  of  terror: 

"  Hung  Shun  Tien !  " 

While  the  marines  endeavoured  to  get  their 
cannon  in  position,  the  Chinese  troops  ran  thither 
and  thither,  uttering  cries  of  terror.  The  specta- 
tors separated  into  two  parts,  one  panic-stricken 
while  the  other  threw  their  queues  over  their 
right  shoulders  in  the  sign  of  Shou  and  echoed 
that  terrible  cry. 

A  deluge  of  men  overflowed  the  whole  bund, 
and  marines,  spectators,  and  soldiers  were  lost 
in  it. 

As  though  unconscious  of  this  great  flood  of 
mankind  aroused  by  him  the  Breton  went  through 
the  way  which  the  Eye  gleaming  sullenly  on  his 
bosom  opened  for  him.  And  as  he  stepped  out 
into  the  open  space  toward  the  crucifix,  this  now 
vast  multitude  became  silent.  Those  that  were 
near  saw  him  draw  his  hand  across  his  eyes;  shag- 
gily shake  his  head  and  shoulders,  then  go  slowly 
over  to  the  crucifix. 

The  executioners  drew  away  as  he  approached, 
and  two  fell  upon  their  knees  obedient  to  the  man- 
date of  the  Eye  aglitter  in  the  gathering  gloom. 

The  Breton  stood  for  a  moment  silently  beside 
the  crucifix. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  said  softly. 
[329] 


THE   VERMILION    PENCIL 

A  smile  passed  over  the  lips  of  the  wife,  but  she 
did  not  open  her  eyes. 

"  I  have  come,"  he  repeated  in  the  same  soft, 
questioning  tones. 

Uncertain,  fearful,  her  eyes  opened.  She  looked 
at  him  and  smiled.  She  looked  at  him  again,  and 
out  over  the  bund  echoed  a  cry  so  full  of  joy  that 
the  falling  night  seemed  turned  into  the  break  of 
day,  and  the  lark's  note  quivered  in  the  air.  Some 
men  in  the  multitude  smiled  foolishly  and  wiped 
away  a  tear,  others  laughed  to  choke  a  sob. 

The  Breton  picked  up  the  beheading  sword  at 
his  feet,  handling  it  as  lightly  as  a  knife.  Without 
haste,  seemingly  oblivious  to  all  about  him,  he  cut 
the  cords  from  her  wrists.  No  one  moved.  They 
watched,  fascinated,  the  great  sword  play  deli- 
cately about  her;  cutting  the  cords  of  her  ankles, 
severing  the  thongs  about  her  wrists  and  neck. 

The  wife  was  free.  Holding  out  her  hands,  she 
clasped  them  around  his  neck.  He  drew  his  black 
robe  around  her  so  that  only  her  head  was  seen 
nestling  beside  the  Great  Symbol. 

For  some  moments  thus  they  stood — motionless 
beside  the  crucifix,  while  the  army  of  the  Deluge, 
gigantic  and  terrible,  awaited  his  command. 

The  Breton  hesitated. 

Presently  he  began  to  move  backwards  toward 
the  bund's  edge,  carrying  the  wife  in  his  left  arm 
and  still  grasping  in  his  right  the  executioner's 
[330] 


ELOI,    ELOI,    LAMA   SABACTHANI 
sword.  Behind  and  below  him  called  the  old  voice 
of  the  river — before  him  the  old  silence  of  man. 

The  Deluge  pondered. 

The  crucifix  held  out  its  arms  in  the  gloom ;  one 
to  man  and  one  to  the  river.  The  husband  dead 
was  unseen;  the  bishop  crouching  in  his  chair  be- 
came a  part  of  the  approaching  void  of  night  and 
the  bond  of  blood  on  the  bund  at  his  feet  fluttered 
and  in  the  night  wind  vanished. 

The  day  was  done. 

Thoughtfully  and  for  some  time  the  Breton 
gazed  at  those  before  him,  without  anger  or  won- 
der or  pain.  Then  he  looked  down  in  the  face  up- 
turned to  his,  where  eyes  were  full  of  laughter  and 
delight,  where  lips  smiled  and  murmured  and 
caressed. 

Her  little  hands  tightened  around  his  neck  and 
drew  his  head  down  until  their  lips  met. 

Darkness  was  falling.  The  fog  coming  in  from 
the  sea  scudded  low  down  on  the  river  and  its  veil 
was  being  drawn  over  multitude  and  water.  All 
distant  were  hid  in  it  other  than  upon  the  bund's 
edge,  where  still  stood  a  darkened  figure. 

Suddenly  the  Deluge  began  to  move. 

Night  had  fallen:  from  its  shadows  came  only 
the  crunch  of  that  remorseless  flood  as  it  moved  on- 
ward— back  into  those  abysses  whence  it  had  come 
forth — the  Night  of  Time,  the  Heart  of  Man. 

THE  END 

[331] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  hook  is  1)1  I   on  the  last  date  stamped  helow. 


JJAY    81993 
NOV    41987 


itftY  U*  RW 


4WKOCT    31995 
REC'D  LD-URL 


REC'D  LD-URL 


dfflfclfi.W 

"tCD  //}   ll~. 

DEC  08198P4WKAPR2 


3  1158  00092 


Gen.  Homer  Lea,  whose  new  book, 
"The  Day  of  the  Saxon,"  is  just  pub- 
lished and  Archibald  Colquhoun, 
author  of  "China  in  Transformation,  ' 
have  reached,  from  different  starting- 
points,  some  similar  conclusions.  Both 
— American  and  Englishman  —  s< 
certain  grave  dangers  to  the  Saxon 
race  in  Russia's  slow  but  unchecked 
advance  toward  the  sphere  or  Indian 
interest,  and  in  the  immigration  of 
Asiatic  people  into  Australia. 


